


Yandere HxH x Reader

by ddarkerdreams



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Amnesia, Creampie, Dark, Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Bonding, Forced Marriage, Forced Relationship, Nen (Hunter X Hunter), Reader-Insert, Yandere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:49:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24443863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddarkerdreams/pseuds/ddarkerdreams
Summary: A collection of various one-shots.(Originally posted on my tumblr, ddarker-dreams)
Relationships: Feitan (Hunter X Hunter)/Reader, Illumi Zoldyck/Reader, Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer/Reader
Comments: 22
Kudos: 368





	1. Yandere Illumi Zoldyck x Reader [Trips]

Life brings with it new situations, impeding obstacles that need to be overcome. 

Flexibility is the trait that allows such things to be navigated properly, to accept and work with the cards that you’ve been dealt. Unfortunately for you, this character trait has always seemed to be one of your greatest fallacies. 

Why this incontestable fact wasn’t enough to deter Illumi, you would never know for certain. Determined is the word you found to fit his likeness the best. Illumi sought out on the long and cumbersome journey of sculpting you into his ideal masterpiece, chipping away at elements unfitting of his taste; while emphasizing any desirable traits. 

Dehumanizing as it is, it’s your new reality. One that you never expected to be a chapter in the book of your life, if not the falling action and conclusion now all together. But, as inflexible as you are at times, you can still attempt to make the most of it in your own way.

Having already offered any serious forms of opposition, you quickly learned the petty endeavors would ultimately be pointless. Illumi never so much as blinked at any of your trite attempts at upsetting him, not taking the offenses as seriously as you hoped. Maybe that was for the best, as he’d still reprimand you despite seeming unaffected. 

“Aina,” you invite over in a low tone. “Can you come here for a moment?” 

There isn’t any reason to voice your desires in a polite manner, seeing as the Zoldyck butlers would carry out your every reasonable whim without complaint. Even if they held the key to freeing you from this grandiose prison, you still couldn’t find it within yourself to harbor any serious resentment against them. 

Even if they did come to their senses, and ever tried to assist you, you didn’t want to imagine what the consequences would be for such an offense.

“Do you need something, Master [First]?” 

Aina appears next to you faster than the human eye could comprehend, her serious gaze set wholly upon you. Aina was who Illumi assigned to be your personal butler during your first few days here, someone who has become a familiar face. You had asked her before for her age, only to learn she was only a year older than you. 

Illumi most likely picked her out for that very reason, wanting to “ease” the transition into your new life. 

Aina sports a well cared for bob, having light brunette hair and honey colored eyes. It seems you fell right into Illumi’s trap, feeling a kindling of friendship with her. Even if it wasn’t formed in a natural way, a friend is a friend. 

Leaning back in the garden chair, a soft noise leaves your lips as you stretch your stiff muscles. The relaxing sounds of nature always felt like a welcome change of pace. You’ve always expressed your preference for the gardens in the Zoldyck estate, preferring them greatly over the Gothic style mansion. 

The air out here feels lighter, the sun inviting as it gently kisses your skin. Different cries from exotic creatures you couldn’t even begin to name fill your ears, along with the sounds of running water from the fountains. 

Aina waits by your side ever so patiently, while your mind is full of these thoughts.

Sheepishly looking up at her through your eyelashes, you smile. “I have a bit of a request, actually.” 

She’s capable of picking up on every nuance to your words, of reading all the twitches of your muscles and knowing what emotions they indicate. In a way, it almost reminds you of Illumi. But whereas Illumi would exploit this telling information for his own gain, Aina uses it only to serve you better.

“If by chance I’m asking for too much, just let me know,” you request, a nervous laugh leaving your lips. At this you notice her jawline tightening, most likely anticipating the worst. “It’s been on my mind to get some new decorations to spruce up my room. Not to say I dislike the whole, vampires living in the 1800s look, but it’s a tad dreary.” 

Aina’s lips quirk up, before she swiftly changes to a neutral look once more. 

“Since I can’t really use the internet, it’s not like I can do online shopping. And I’d feel bad for someone having to deliver it on a mountain too. So how do I go about this? Is there like a special Zoldyck amazon that I can use, but no one has told me about yet?” 

At any hints of humanity Aina offers, you find it easier to talk without holding yourself back. Being all doom and gloom nonstop is tiring after all, sometimes you just have to roll with the punches. Even if that phrase most likely is not intended for being forced into marriage with an assassin, it could still apply here, right? 

“If I’m being honest with you, I’m not entirely sure,” Aina places a tentative hand to her chin, eyes narrowing in deep thought. “I’d need to contact Master Illumi for his instructions. Do you want me to do so now?” 

At the mention of your husband’s name, you frown. Even if you were expecting your request to be run through multiple channels for permission to be granted, it doesn’t soothe the sting any less. Most things in your life, if not everything, are controlled entirely by Illumi. 

Puffing your cheeks out in mild annoyance, you can’t help but sigh dejectedly. “Yeah, yeah. I guess I don’t have much of a choice if I want to get my pink sheets…” 

Aina doesn’t so much as flinch at your thinly veiled sarcasm, instantly getting herself to work with the matter at hand. You find yourself watching her carefully as Aina reaches for the black phone in her pocket. If you remember correctly, Aina had informed you that Illumi is on his way back from a job that had him absent a week. 

Seeing as he must be in transit, you assume Aina has the green light to contact him whenever necessary without the concern of impeding on his work. 

With the press of a button, you hear a low dialing tone come from her phone. One ring later you hear him pick up, Aina’s posture straightening even more than it was before out of respect. Tilting your head at the half heard exchange before you, you’re unable to determine much from Aina’s stoic facade.

Eventually, she pulls the phone away from her head. Before you get the opportunity to ask if you’re in the clear, she holds the phone out in your direction. 

“Master Illumi wishes to speak with you.” 

At this instruction, you swallow thickly. Speaking to Illumi is always a tricky battle, his words blunt yet crafted all the same. Aina subtly nudges the phone forward once more, prompting you to gingerly pick it up. Placing it against your ear, you bite your lip before finally speaking. Not wanting to give off the impression of being frightened, you put your all into sounding casual.

“So uh, what’s up?” you inquire to him, looking down at your tea cup. By now it’s undoubtedly cold, the amber colored liquid held in a fine china worth more than you could imagine. The desire to fiddle with your hands overwhelms you, so you reach for the handle. 

At your voice, Illumi responds immediately in his signature deadpan. “Aina mentioned you wanted to go shopping.” 

_‘Is this… newsworthy or something?’_

“Yeah, I thought it could be a nice change of pace,” you let out an airy laugh, your grip on the handle growing tighter. Even when Illumi isn’t face to face with you, you still can’t help but feel nervous. “It’d make me happy. But I understand if it’s too unreasonable.” 

You sit awaiting a response, hearing nothing but the propellers of the blimp Illumi must be travelling on. Does that mean he’s considering it? There’s always a chance he has already made up his mind, but wants to give the impression of taking your feelings into account. It’s a creepy tick you noticed he has, trying to act more human for your sake. 

“Alright. We’ll go when I get back this evening,” Illumi eventually concludes, much to your surprise. “You can hand the phone back to Aina now.” 

Nodding your head despite him not being able to see you, you give the dark phone back to Aina who stands in waiting. She takes it before confirming a few more minor details, and then ultimately ending the phone call. It’s strange, you believe, that such a mild request requires so many moving parts. Whether it be Illumi’s suffocatingly protective nature over you, or the cost of being a Zoldyck, you’re unsure. 

Aina busies herself with contacting other butlers at your behest, most likely planning out in great length how everything will work. If it weren’t for being held here against your will, you might even feel bad for all the effort they’re putting in for your sake. But even if it’s a small one, this is a victory nonetheless! 

Having been with Illumi for over a year now, you quickly picked up on what you should and shouldn’t do. Even when you’re upset with him, which you can’t help but be a majority of the time; it’s in your best interest to not show it. A few snarky quips here and there don’t do much damage, but anything other than that can place you in boiling hot water.

Illumi had expressed to you in the past a similar sentiment. That once you adjust to your new life, things will flow a lot smoother for you. Now the fruits of your labor are starting to show, you believe. If he’s placing enough trust in you to do this, then maybe, just maybe; you can have even more freedoms over time.

Once Aina looks to be free for a moment, you begin to speak to her again.

“You know, in the past when I wanted to go shopping I’d just get in my car, and head to the mall.” you recall over to her, wistfully sighing for extra effect. Aina never seems bothered by your musings, always indulging you without a hint of irritation.

“I’m sure things were simpler then. But now that you’re a Zoldyck, there are a lot of extra factors to account for,” Aina points out with a soft smile of her own. Whether it’s genuine or not, you’re unsure. “Master Illumi does the utmost to ensure your safety.” 

“I’m surprised he hasn’t wrapped me up in bubble wrap yet,” you snicker at the thought, before your eyes widen in realization. “Wait, I shouldn’t give him any ideas…” 

“If it makes you feel any better, I doubt he’d do that.” 

_‘For some reason, that doesn’t make me feel much better.’_

Shaking your head, you decide to curve the conversation away from your overprotective husband. “What time are we heading out? I have to wear my finest threads and all, since I’m representing the family.” 

Pulling the cuff of her suit back, she looks down at her watch.

“Four hours, give or take. You still have some time.” Aina responds in haste, before covering her watch yet again. 

Owlishly, you stare at her, finding her every move to be of interest. It further cements the feeling that you don’t fit in with this estate, despite Illumi’s attempts. The grace the family members have, and even their servants have, is still far from your grasp.

That still doesn’t stop him from trying though.

“In that case, I’ll return to my previous philosophical musings.” you respond while stroking your chin, stifling another laugh. If there’s anything that can bring you comfort in this foreign place, it’s your own stupid words. 

Why you caught the interest of Illumi Zoldyck is still one of the world’s wonders, not to say you don’t have your own theories. Some ranging from being cursed as a baby, to having done something in your past life to deserve this. 

‘How does the saying go again? Opposites attract, or something. Illumi is probably the opposite of me in every conceivable way, after all.’

“Would you like me to brew you some fresh tea?” Aina asks you, having taken notice of your cold beverage. You purse your lips, knowing that trying to understand Illumi is a lost cause.

“Yes please.” 

—

When you used to watch events where celebrities would gather, one of the coolest aspects to you were the cars they’d emerge from. Sports cars, luxury vehicles, limousines. All of them filled you with awe and wonder, a class above what you could ever hope to afford. 

Now you stand here, face to face with a limousine of your own, gaping at the tinted windows and expensive tires. Three vehicles just like it line up behind, most likely your other escorts. 

Aina looks over at you once more, straightening her posture and then subtly motioning to you. It takes a moment for it to click, before realizing that your gawking isn’t as subtle as you thought it was. Following her example with less grace, you walk towards the car door.

Before you can continue to do so, you hear Aina speak up behind you. 

“Do you recall everything I told you earlier?” she inquires, causing you to turn your head back to her. Humming lowly, you remember the myriad of boring guidelines you had to endure earlier. It all felt so dramatic, and if you’re being honest, you zoned out for a majority of it. 

Scrunching up your nose, you place a finger to your cheek. “Don’t go around yelling ‘Help! I’ve been kidnapped!’ or something.” 

Aina pinches her nose, before shaking her head. “Well, you’re not wrong per se…” 

Giving her a cheeky smile, you go to reach for the door handle. But before you get the opportunity, another servant swiftly opens it for you. 

“Please, allow me, Master [First].” 

He opens it with a respectful bow, revealing a black leather interior. Letting out a small “oooh!”, you bite your lip upon noticing the other occupant of the limousine. Waving off the servant’s attempt to assist you into your seat, you hear Aina speak to you once more.

“I’ll be in the car behind you if you need anything.” 

“I’ll yell out the window in that case.” you yell back, undoubtedly earning a reprimanding look from her. Plopping yourself down into your seat, your door is closed before you even get the chance to do it yourself.

“No greeting, huh?” Illumi tilts his head, blank eyes staring at you with an unreadable expression. Fiddling with your seat belt, you finally look over at him in acknowledgement. Managing to hear a click signifying your seat belt is locked in place, you give Illumi your full attention.

“Hey, didn’t see you there.” you greet Illumi who doesn’t so much as blink at your words. 

“You looked at me when getting in,” he points out, any form of humor flying over his head. “Do we need to get your eyes checked?” 

Throwing your hands up in defense, you swiftly shake your head at his offer. “I was just joking, Illumi.” 

“Ah.” 

Illumi’s tone is as flippant as ever, one of his signature trademarks. On the other side of the partition, you hear keys being flipped to turn the car on. With a soft hum, the car gains traction with remarkable ease. On such a rocky terrain, none of it is felt as the luxury vehicle glides across the ground. 

Returning your attention to Illumi, you find him staring at you as well. For a while it gave you a jittery feeling, having those dark voids for eyes thoroughly observing your every move. While it certainly isn’t any less frightening, you suppose that all this time with Illumi has given you a sort of immunity to it. 

“So… how did your job go?” you inquire in a soft voice, hands set in place on your lap. There isn’t much else to talk about, so might as well try your luck with this. Illumi would sit next to you in total silence if he so chose to, not being the type to entertain conversation himself without some kind of agenda. 

“As well as expected,” Illumi responds earnestly, seemingly pleased that you’re taken interest in him. “The target was killed without a hitch.” 

You let out a hesitant laugh. “Oh. That’s uh, that’s good I think…” 

Trailing off your sentence, you find yourself scratching the back of your neck at the topic in progress. The thought of the person next to you having killed someone in the last twenty-four hours is dizzying, so you’re quick to move onto something new.

“So, where exactly are we going?” you ask, the question having been on your mind for the past few hours. The fact you were even leaving Kukuroo mountain in the first place is a surprising one, even your honeymoon took place here. Unless there’s some other Zoldyck owned establishment that happens to double as a mall, your mind is clueless to any possible destinations.

“I made arrangements to empty out a shopping center for a few hours. Aside from employees, that is,” Illumi explains, still not blinking. “Aina went over everything with you, right?” 

_‘She did, but it’s not like I was really paying attention.’_

Clearing your throat, you quickly nod your head to deter any negative repercussions. “Yeah, I remember everything she said.” 

He studies you once more, before leaning back into his seat. You feel a sudden urge to do the same, but find it difficult to ever fully relax when Illumi is present. Among other things, there’s still one damning question you still can’t fully understand. 

Why Illumi is even allowing this in the first place, after all the insane precautions he’s taken to seal you off from the world. Maybe it’s best not to pry into your sudden good fortune? Since curiosity killed the cat, quelling this question will be in your best interest. 

Leaning your head against your fist, your eyebrows furrow. 

“You have more questions.” Illumi points out, alarming you. Of course he notices any change in your behavior, having spent hours studying every aspect about you. In his own words, there’s nothing you can hide from him. At every given opportunity he proves those words to be correct. 

“W-well, yeah,” you admit out at the unexpected heckle. “If I’m being completely honest… I’m just a little taken aback that you’re actually allowing this. I guess.” 

For a moment you wonder if your words were too blunt, as Illumi sits there in rigid silence. 

“Think of it as a reward for your good behavior,” Illumi eventually concludes, lips curling into an unnatural, proud smile. “Even though you weren’t too compliant at first, you never made any escape attempts. I would’ve known had you tried. I was largely expecting the possibility, but you never made any serious offenses.” 

_‘I feel like this is how a judge talks to a defendant or something.’_

“I suppose that’s true…” you consider, reflecting back to your time here. Although escaping had crossed your mind numerous times, you never had the guts to act on it. The odds were insourmantable against you. What with all the highly trained assassins and butlers running about, you’d have better luck at winning the lottery than pulling a successful escape.

“I’ve always liked outings like this. I would treat myself to a five dollar coffee and then immediately regret it when I got home,” you recall with a snicker. “There’s nothing quite like opening your bank account and wondering, ‘What was I thinking?’ when you’re out of the moment.” 

Illumi nods his head. “That’s true. Your bank account wasn’t in the best shape.” 

“How do you even– whatever, I probably don’t want to know,” you murmur while rolling your eyes at his lack of tact. “The point being that the most fun part is all the little treats you buy yourself in between the stores. Sometimes I’d get those cups of small pretzel bites, then have to eat them really quick since you can’t bring them in the stores.” 

“Ah! That explains all the small transactions I saw.” Illumi proclaims, eyes lighting up for a moment. 

_‘The art of being subtle is all but lost to my husband.’_

“Have you ever had pretzel bites, Illumi? For some reason, I get the feeling you haven’t been to the mall that often.” you comment while giving him a once over, taking in his unique fashion that would certainly stand out. How he even goes in public without people badgering him is remarkable. 

“Only once for shadowing on a job.” Illumi answers, piquing your inner curiosity. 

“You were hired to assassinate someone who hung out around a mall? I thought you only went after politicians or important people.” you point out, tilting your head.

“There’s some variety. The client himself was a wealthy individual, who wanted his daughter’s boyfriend killed. She had been dating someone who worked at a clothing store, going against her father’s wishes.” 

Frowning, you lean back into your seat. Some people will do anything for the sake of image, but the thought of doing something that would actively hurt a member of your family doesn’t make any sense to you. But the people that Illumi deal with are in a league of their own, taking part in a world you will never understand.

A somber atmosphere begins to set in, to which you attempt to alleviate with a joke. “Did you trail the guy in one of those mascot suits? Like the ones people give free samples in?” 

For a moment, you swear you saw Illumi’s eyebrows knit together. He’s still getting used to unfiltered comments, even after all this time. You’ve been told your personality is a tad on the eccentric side in the past. It doesn’t help that Illumi is incapable of spotting humor even in others. 

“No. That wouldn’t have been effective.” Illumi plainly states, unimpressed with your guess. 

At his dismissal, you further explain your reasoning. “Think about it! It’s an efficient method. You’d blend right in with the atmosphere around you, and no one would be able to tell that you’re looking at your target because of the mask. I think this is genius, actually. Maybe I should patent it…” 

Illumi purses his lips together at your further insistence. At the very least you know Illumi never tunes you out like most would be inclined to at this point. He soaks in every word, every movement of your lips. 

“That’s certainly something you would say.” he ultimately decides, knowing your carefree nature and comments well. 

_‘Is that a good or bad thing? That’s probably a bad thing.’_

Not giving too much thought to Illumi’s blunt comment, you content yourself by looking out your window. On the outside it’s impossible to see the interior of the car, but from this angle you’re able to see blurry scenery as it goes by. Having familiarized yourself with most of the Zoldyck estate, this felt like an entirely new world. A welcome one at that.

The temptation to lower the window for fresh air presses against you like a thorn, but you ultimately deny it. Who knows how Illumi would interpret the act, it’s better to not risk it. Instead your eyes go wide at the sights around you, seeing the outside world in what felt like forever. 

You can still feel Illumi’s gaze boring into the back of your head, but you think nothing of it. He watches you enough as is, it’s not worth getting worked up about. Through winding roads, a hint of civilization finally makes itself known. Seeing people not donning the standard Zoldyck tuxedo fills your heart with nostalgia of a time before.

Eventually, the vehicle comes to a stop in an almost empty parking lot. Not wanting to make any wrong moves, you sit patiently for whatever security checks the butlers are most likely performing at the moment. Illumi gets out before you do, the chauffeur eventually coming to open the door for you just a minute later.

Taking in the fresh air, you appreciate the ability to stretch your legs while awaiting further instruction. Aina catches your eye for a brief moment, giving you a reassuring nod before returning her attention to looking at the premises. The butlers continue to speak among themselves, occasionally running a few words by Illumi who returns to your side.

Once everything seems to be in order, you’re prompted to walk towards the entrance. It reminds you of a scene from an apocalyptic movie, seeing how this large mall is almost entirely devoid of human life. It seems Illumi’s comment about only employees being present rings true, as you cheerfully enter into the grandiose mall. 

Looking around at the interior, you come to the realization that this is an extremely high end mall. 

_‘So much for my pretzel bite dreams… Maybe they have caviar stands here instead.’_

Pausing, you glance over at Illumi to make certain that you’re still in the clear. Not sensing any indication that you’ve done something wrong, you continue on your merry way. It’s an overwhelming selection before you, but you want to treasure this moment for as long as you can.

Anything that catches your eye you indulge, walking into the store while being surrounded by numerous butlers. The employees at the store seem understandably hesitant at your presence, so you make an effort to not disturb them more than necessary. The shops that catch your eye the most are clothing stores.

Eventually, you approach one with a variety of cute outfits. The collection of clothes you currently have is surprisingly tailored to your taste, Illumi most likely having studied that aspect about you. An overall outfit in particular stands out to you, causing you to walk over to it with urgency.

“Illumi! How do you think this would look on me?” you call over to him with a snicker, grabbing the hanger and holding it against your person. Illumi looks at you as if you have three heads, mind undoubtedly wracking to form a husband like answer.

“It would look acceptable.” he eventually responds, to which your shoulders slump. It’s not like your expectations are high, but Illumi’s lack of enthusiasm never fails to shine through. A mischievous thought passes through your mind, grin adorning your face before you can stop it. Placing the outfit back to its previous spot, your eyes roam over the selection.

Spotting a bright pink tuxedo, you pick it up before examining Illumi.

“I think you need a new outfit or two. How about this? It’d really bring out your eyes.” you beam, using all of your strength not to laugh. Illumi looks at the bright, hot pink tuxedo and then looks at you. In your peripheral vision you see Aina place her hand to her forehead. Shouldn’t she also be used to this by now?

“I’ll consider your input.” Illumi reaches for the tuxedo, much to your astonishment. Could it be? Is he actually going to purchase this in an attempt to further win you over? Victory is a fleeting emotion, as he stretches his arms to place the outfit back in record time.

“I don’t think that’s what I’d call considering,” you point out with a frown, Illumi seemingly content with the outfit being out of your hands. “You didn’t even give it a shot. At least try it on.” 

At your additional pressure, Illumi offers a simple response. “I am considering it.’ 

Giving an over dramatic sigh, you nod before busying yourself with the other selections. Adding a few more odds and ends to your bag, it’s paid for by one of the butlers. Most likely to further limit any of your contact with the outside world. You get the feeling that if you even attempt to make conversation with them, they’d be too skittish to say anything in response. It doesn’t help that you have Illumi looming over you. 

Humming to yourself, you move onto the next few stores. It’s impossible to curtail all of your old habits, still checking the price tag before remembering it doesn’t matter anymore. This part of being with Illumi isn’t all that bad, despite its shallowness. Guilt never comes to you, however, as you recall with ease all Illumi has taken from you. 

The sun starts to set in the sky above you, the glass ceiling of the mall further showcasing the bold oranges and reds. All of the recent sunsets you’ve seen have been on Kukuroo Mountain, where you almost felt you could reach out and touch the clouds yourself. Stopping in your tracks, you gape at the nostalgic scene.

_‘This is how it used to look like.’_

The thought of never being able to see the sky from your own residence never occurred to you. Despite the undeniable beauty witnessing a sunset on a mountain brings, it’s too surreal. This is a familiar comfort, one that you’ve experienced your entire life before Illumi entered it.

“There aren’t any shops up there.” Illumi points out, his monotone returning you to reality. Jumping slightly at his sudden speech, you offer a small laugh. In a way, Illumi’s bluntness can be unintentionally humorous. 

“Now that you mention it,” you begin, squinting and looking around. “You’re right. There aren’t any. Strange, I could’ve sworn I saw some.” 

“Maybe you should see an ophthalmologist after all.” 

“I’m still joking, Illumi.” 

“Ah.” 

A butler who you don’t recognize approaches Illumi carefully, whispering a few words into his ear. Illumi looks back towards you, his attention once again yours. Your stomach sinks before he even speaks, capable of guessing what he’s already going to say.

“We’ll be heading back home now,” Illumi states, leaving little room for debate. “Did you get everything you wanted?” 

It’s a rhetorical question, you feel. At this point it’ll be best for you to offer your abundant gratitude, for him having allowed this entire trip to begin with. Giving one more glance to the sky, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever be able to look at it like this again.

Giving Illumi a bittersweet smile, you nod your head. “Yeah. Everything I wanted.”


	2. Yandere Chrollo x Reader [Restraint]

All you can hear are the sporadic breaths that leave your body. Time has passed, but you cannot tell how much. You can’t even open your eyes, being met with darkness from what you assume is a blindfold. The deceptively soft fabric has left it impossible to understand where you are. 

Whenever you manage to move, a gentle rattling reminds you of the cold metal against your ankle. You curse yourself. This was your fault, wasn’t in? If you had just continued to play along with _him_ , this wouldn’t have happened to you. You had doubted your plan at the time, it had caused you immense anxiety and worry. 

It was so much better before this.

The pitiful thoughts filling your mind were interrupted by a sound of distant footsteps. Immediately, your muscles stiffen. Squeezing your eyes shut, you can only hope he believes you’re asleep; and promptly leaves you alone.

The footsteps get closer. You feel an added weight to the bed you were sprawled out on. Immediately, you ceased any movement, and attempt to steady your breathing.

Goosebumps dot your skin as a soft hand strokes your shoulder. It’s impossible not to wince at the unexpected sensation, causing the hand to stop for a moment.

“I’m sorry to wake you.”

The voice is deep, and smooth. You know it all too well.

Chrollo.

You don’t say anything, not wanting to provoke him. He’s never physically hurt you, but you don’t want to find out when that’d end. The worst thing he does: is the mind games. In staying quiet, you hope he’ll leave you alone.

A few moments pass, and his hand begins to gently explore your skin.

“You’re still upset with me… that’s understandable,” he pauses. “But know this. This is your fault, not mine. You were the one who tried my patience.”

You can no longer bite your tongue.

“You… motherfucker. What the fuck do you mean by that? I didn’t want this, I didn’t want any of this–”

It’s subtle, but the room almost seems colder. You cut yourself off. Chrollo was always so in control of himself. It’s even worse now, that you can’t see him. His face was impossible to read.

But you can tell his eyes are boring into you.

“How long do you intend to act like this?” Chrollo inquires, his voice ever steady. He almost sounds curious, which makes your blood boil. 

“For as long as I live.”

For a moment, there’s silence. But you ears are greeted with a short laugh, airy and free. You ball your hands up into a fist, and grit your teeth. 

You can feel him getting closer, as much as you wish he’d give you space. The sensation of his hand touching you is gone, instead, replaced with something even softer. His lips.

He gently presses them against the crook of your neck. Chrollo must be able to tell how fast your heart is beating, and you damn yourself for it. It’s just a physical reaction that you have no control over – but you know it’d be enough to please him nonetheless.

You can feel him softly breathing against your skin. His mouth moves up from your neck, slowly and deliberately. You flinch as he moves closer to your ear, eventually stopping.

“It’s more beneficial if you stop acting so defiant,” he whispers, your body shaking. “I’ll reward you if you’re good for me.”


	3. Yandere Chrollo x Reader [Your Body Won't Lie to Me]

The past few weeks of your life have been nothing short of a nightmare. Never was there a moment where you truly felt like you could let your guard down, seeing as you were being held captive by a coldblooded mass murderer.

It wasn’t always like this. There was a time where you thought the world of Chrollo, where every day with him felt like a dream. He often reminds you of this. How happy he used to make you, and how he still could if you _just_ let him. About how stubborn you’re being.

Even with all his constant verbal prodding, you’ve remained as strong as you can. Your pride won’t allow you to give into him, not if you could help it. It brought you the tiniest bit of satisfaction knowing that you’re denying him the one part of you he can’t steal.

Your love.

“You look deep in thought.” 

Chrollo’s voice is always lighthearted. He rarely loses control of himself, never showing you his true emotions in his voice. That, paired with his relaxed demeanor made him almost impossible to read.

Currently, you were situated on your shared bed with him. The difference in your strength to his was night and day, and you’ve resigned yourself to giving up on physical resistance. That didn’t stop you from moving as far away as you could from him.

Despite speaking to you, he never looks up from the book he’s reading. His gray eyes continue to scan the pages at a fast rate, not looking at your person just yet.

The silence you respond with makes his lip twitch, ever so slightly.

“Hm… you wouldn’t be ignoring me now, would you?” Chrollo inquires, finally looking over at you. You shiver at the rigid sensation of having your body searched, certain that he was analyzing every inch of you.

“No…” you meekly respond, hugging your knees to your chest. Chrollo says nothing for a moment, instead, gently closing his book. The sound reverberates in your empty bedroom, before uncomfortable silence encompasses you once more.

“I’d hope not,” Chrollo begins, placing the book on his nightstand. “It’s never worked out like you wanted.” 

At this, your teeth begin to gnaw on your lip. Your mind is a constant mantra of insults and hateful words, dripping with venom. But he’s right. Every form of defiance to Chrollo never works. Any insult you say is countered, every scream viewed as nothing more than a childish outburst. 

“What do you want me to say, then?” you snap at him, unable to bite your tongue. Unsurprisingly, Chrollo merely blinks at your crass tone. It makes your blood boil at how he gently smiles at you. Irritation seeps into your being, and you harshly grit your teeth.

“Plenty of things. For starters, you could stop pretending that you hate me.”

“I’m _not_ pretending.”

“Is that so?” 

Chrollo starts to move closer to you, alarmingly. You don’t even have time to process a reaction, as he’s far faster than you are. In movement’s faster than your eyes can catch, he’s hovering above you. 

Your eyes are wide, mouth slightly agape. Your back is slammed against the bed, your hair splaying out gracelessly on the pillow beneath your head. Before you can even think to protest, your words are taken away by the look in his eyes.

His ebony hair is loose, hanging down as he looks above you. His callous hands have your wrists pinned above your head, making it difficult to squirm out of his grip. Even still, he controls his strength as not to hurt you. You get a good view of the strange marking that he has on his forehead. 

“You are pretending.” he murmurs, his voice warm and smooth. The same smile remains on his face. He was so sure of himself. He always was.

“You should see yourself now, love. Your pupils are dilating,” he begins, before lowering his head towards you. You squeak gently at the sensation of his soft lips hovering over your neck.

“Mm… and your heart. It beats so fast from my touch.”

His left hand begins to wander down, his fingers skillfully ghosting over your exposed skin. He starts at your shoulders, soaking in your reaction greedily as goosebumps begin to line your skin. He takes note of how you arch your back slightly when touching you in the areas he knows you love most. 

No longer can you handle the pressure of looking him in the eyes. In a final attempt at denying him, you squeeze your eyes shut and look over to the side. You don’t want him to see the vulnerability in your eyes.

A faint, pleased laugh leaves his lips at this.

Not one to be distracted by easily, he smoothly resumes peppering your neck with kisses and gentle love bites. Your toes curl at the sensation of every touch, stomach twisting uncomfortably. Your breathing is sporadic, uneven.

He knows he’s proven his point, even without having to speak. Even so, he can’t help but rub it in your face.

“ **Your body won’t lie to me** , [First].” 


	4. Yandere Chrollo x Reader [I've Denied Myself Long Enough]

Some situations didn’t seem plausible outside of movies.

Being an ordinary person without any significant happening to you was how you lived most of your life. Even when you met Chrollo for the first time, you didn’t think much of it. He was handsome and charming, but had the facade of a normal person every time you spoke.

Life became a downwards spiral after that.

He was subtle in the beginning. There were little coincidences that were too innocent to mask a malevolent intent. You didn’t give it a second thought when he’d run into you at your favorite coffee place, or when he’d caught you on the way to a movie. It’s a small world, right? 

It began to increase in intensity after the first few weeks. Chrollo would always be around you, not that you ever minded. He was well spoken, charismatic, and interested in what you said. He even gave you gifts every now and then, things that you specifically tailored to your interests. How he knew you were into the items he gifted you with, you were never sure.

It had to be pure intentions… right?

As you stare at him now, reality crashing down over you, you realize just how wrong you were. 

Opening the door to your apartment after a long day, you felt exhaustion taking over you. It had been a testing day at work, there was nothing more inviting than lazily lounging in your bed for hours. 

But when you turn on your lights, shock ripples in waves throughout your being at the sight of Chrollo sitting on _your_ couch. In _your_ apartment.

“What the _fuck_?” you blurt out, going to cover your mouth in shock. Your hands loosen from the bitter mix of confusion and surprise, your bag hitting the ground. Chrollo looks up to see you, bookmarking the page he was on.

“Ah, [First], you’re back early.” 

Your overworking brain doesn’t even have time to process the stalking implications of his words, as you stare incredulously at the intruder in your apartment. Alarm bells were ringing in your head as you quickly process your options, sweat starting to roll down your temple.

Stumbling a step back, your hand begins to slowly hover over the doorknob. Chrollo notices your actions, an airy laugh leaving his person. He uncrosses his legs, and places his book down.

Your eyes are incapable of processing how fast he moves, as Chrollo appears next to you in what feels like an instant. A gasp leaves your lips as he gently places his hand over your own, leading it away from the door knob.

He was so close to you now, towering over you by a few inches. He places a hand on your mouth for a moment, most likely anticipating that you were going to scream.

“I have no intention on harming you. But I can’t say the same for anyone who would come if you scream,” Chrollo explains smoothly. “Nod your head if you understand.”

Adrenaline was beginning to pump throughout your entire body, primal instincts wanting to take over. The difference in your strength was laughable, and you mull silently over your options. Much to your own chagrin, you obediently nod your head as he had instructed.

Content with your response, he moves his hands away from your person. It looks like he’s thinking as well, and you dread to know what words he would say next.

“I must admit, I had gotten a bit careless,” he muses to himself, a hand on his chin. “I was into the book I was reading, and you got home earlier than you normally do.”

Considering the situation, he doesn’t seem impacted whatsoever. In fact, it felt to you that he didn’t care at all. Where most people would be without words if caught in another’s home, Chrollo was smooth and calm.

“W-why… why are you here?” you manage to stutter out, voice meeker than you wanted it to be. Chrollo smiles at you, eyes containing a fondness that mingled with darker intentions.

“You’re more naive than I thought. I’ve liked you for quite some time now. Have you really not noticed, [First]?” his tone is teasing, making your cheeks flush. You thought you were arrogant for thinking someone like Chrollo would take interest in you, and never thought about it again.

“That doesn’t answer my question!” you exclaim, frustration mounting and finally overflowing. Chrollo places his pointer finger to his lips, in a shushing motion. He must’ve thought you were being too loud.

You’re entire body feels like it’s on fire, emotions heightened and on edge.

“You’re insistent.”

Chrollo leans forward slightly, hovering over your shivering being. You can feel warmth emanating from him, the scent of his cologne making you lightheaded. He was close, so close to you.

“I’m a thief, love,” Chrollo whispers to you, voice unwavering. **“And I’ve denied myself long enough.”**


	5. Yandere Chrollo x Reader [Comfortably Numb]

Home is where the heart is. 

It’s meant to be the sanctuary where you can unwind after a long day of work, dress in your most comfortable pajamas, and feel no qualms for the opinions of others. A safe haven of your own making. Granted, there was a time that you felt this way, no matter how long ago it seems. A coveted period of your life that you wish you could return back to. On a surface level, any onlooker might take a glance at you and think you are as normal as they are. _If only that were the truth,_ you bitterly lament. 

Now, what do you need to check on next? Milk is in good supply, not set to expire anytime soon. Hm… can’t say the same for the fruit. You jostle down some of your favorites onto the ever growing grocery list. What else is there? You’ve got to be missing something. Standing on your tiptoes, you open the overheard cabinet, that is now noticeably more barren than it used to be. The bags of tea that had once populated this area have vanished, all but a lonesome pack of matcha. Huffing, you close the cabinet doors, ready to voice your irritation.

Pivoting on your heel, you look over the kitchen counter and towards the occupied living room. “You drank all my tea?” 

“Not at all of it,” your unwelcome guest corrects, much to your displeasure. “Besides, you never said I couldn’t have any.” 

You raise an eyebrow at this conjecture. Who would’ve thought him a stickler for semantics. “Yeah, well, I never said you _could_ have it either.” 

“That’s a fair enough point. I’ll be sure to reimburse you for it later.” Chrollo ends the conversation before it even begins. His attention returns to his original activity of reading, freely helping himself to yet _another_ one of your belongings. An exhausted sigh leaves your lips at the sight. If you somehow make it out of this situation unscathed, you may take on a more pious lifestyle, having survived way more than you should’ve. It’s a wonder that Chrollo hasn’t seen fit to strike you down where you stand. Where you lack self-restraint in the verbal department, you make up for it in your overall composure. Surely anyone else would’ve been crushed under the immense pressure of having a murderer crashing at their apartment. 

_That’s just about the best way to describe it,_ you think. How desensitized do you have to be to no longer shiver at the thought? In all fairness, Chrollo himself is treating this as the most ordinary arrangement in the world. At his own leisure he’ll start conversations with you, inquire about your day, and even offer insight that you never asked for. It’s gotten to the unfortunate point that you’re even starting to do the same. Treating him more as a peculiar roommate than the threat he truly is, though it could be your way of coping. That’s the explanation you’re going with.

Chrollo puts a bookmark into his read, and places it aside. “Is there anything you’d like for dinner?”

He asks the question as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your normally schooled expression is broken, lips parting and eyebrows furrowing together. Is he being serious right now? There’s no way to tell for certain. Not on a lack of trying from your behalf, his countenance never hints at his innermost thoughts. You get the feeling what little Chrollo does reveal to you is intentional. How creepy. 

“I was just planning on warming up leftovers,” you accentuate this by opening your fridge. On the shelves sits lentil soup, apples, and some protein yogurts. Shit. “Scratch that. I’ll be settling for yogurt instead.” 

“You had that for breakfast, if memory serves.” Chrollo points out, as if you’re incapable of remembering that yourself. It’s odd that he feels the need to pay attention to every detail about you. How often is Chrollo observing you without you taking notice? You push the thought aside with a frown.

“What are you, my hostage-taker _and_ nutritionist? Besides, this is what I like to call a struggle meal. Or, meals, technically. I’ll go shopping tomorrow to make up for it.” You grimace while picking up the gourmet cuisine for tonight. Strawberry cheesecake flavor. It’s better with stuff added to it for texture, but this’ll have to do. It’s doubtful someone who is hiding a stolen merchandise worth hundreds of thousands can empathize with your position. Not that it matters if Chrollo Lucilfer holds you in high regard, with all the blood on his hands. He’s got no room to judge.

“Hm, in the time we’ve spent together, I never considered you as dense,” he gets up from his seat, making his way towards the kitchen. You don’t get a word in edgewise before your dinner is plucked from your hands. Chrollo places it back in the fridge, while you stare at him with a slackened jaw. “I’m offering to buy you food, [First].” 

How considerate of him to spell it out for you. 

“Appreciative as I am for your gesture of goodwill, I’ll pass. I don’t want to be indebted to you.” You make for the fridge once again, scowling as he holds it shut with unnatural force. Damn, he’s strong. Maybe you’re playing with fire by provoking him, considering the power imbalance, but your tongue is faster than your brain. Both a blessing and a curse. _Leaning more towards the latter,_ you muse.

“I insist. It’s only right that I repay you somehow, for allowing me to stay here. You wouldn’t be indebted to me.” Chrollo’s smile never reaches his eyes, you notice. Standing here in close proximity to him, there’s a lot more you can pick up on. Every little detail of his disposition is intentional. From his even keel tone, to his polite speech, and way of acting like you have any say in the matter. You’re all bark and no bite. Both of you are keenly aware of this, and still he talks to you as if he’s none the wiser. It’s demeaning in its own right. 

“I guess it is sacrilegious to turn down free food. Alright, you win.” You throw your hands up in mock defense. This uncomfortable interaction helped you remember the position you’re in, how every breath might be your last. He’s broken into your residence, forced you to hide him from encroaching hunters, and made your past ten days a living hell. It was the threats to your loved ones that ultimately earned your compliance. 

You can’t help the self deprecation that’s followed since that day. The law is what you’re supposed to be protecting, not protecting criminals _from_. Going to the station everyday with the knowledge that you’re harboring such a dangerous criminal is weighing heavily on your soul. Life sure is full of the worst ironies. Had it not been an A class bounty, you may have stood a chance. 

Chrollo reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out one of his many burner phones. “You’re being more agreeable than I expected, if I’m being honest.”

“What can I say? I become a bit of a yes man when my life is being threatened.” You respond with an empty smile of your own. Instead of earning any ire from him, he lets out an airy chuckle, of dubious sincerity. Whether it’s at you or with you is difficult to decipher. He pulls up a food delivery app, showing you the options. This was all prepared in advance, he must’ve taken the time to download it. So it wasn’t a spur of the moment decision to mess with you? 

“Y-you’re really letting me pick?” There’s no hiding your incredulous tone of voice. This series of events is far too bizarre to fathom, like a nightmare stepping into reality. Just a week ago you were contemplating how to poison Chrollo without him taking notice. Now you’re ordering food together. There has to be an ulterior motive lurking around, your gut won’t tell you otherwise.

He tilts his head at your apprehension, and repeats himself. “That’s what I said, yes.” 

Fuck it. When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, or so the saying goes. You’ve suffered enough at Chrollo’s hands, it wouldn’t hurt to make the most of it. You take the cheap phone from his hands, scrolling through the options, and realizing now just how wonderful the variety of food sounds. Working up an appetite hasn’t come naturally with your uninvited guest skulking about. He has enough prepaid visa cards to cover what you want, so you hold nothing back. 

After returning his phone to him, you can’t help but throw an additional sarcastic comment in. It’s second nature at this point. “Happy now?” 

“Very much so,” Chrollo doesn’t mention your indignation, eyes raking over your expansive order. It’s not until he gets to the end that he quirks an eyebrow. “... A one hundred dollar tip?” 

“Feel free to add some extra zeros to the end of that. It’s not binary code for ‘help me, there’s a criminal in my apartment’, if you’re worried about that.”

He hums in consideration. “I can’t say that came to mind.” 

“Shit, looks like I went ahead and busted my own master plan.” Your response is notably dry. A headache is already in the works, courtesy of speaking to Chrollo for too long. He never fails to keep you on your toes. For all the sardonic remarks you make at his expense, anxiety has never stopped plaguing you. It’s a miracle that your heart is still functioning properly. You don’t even know why you ordered the absurd amount that you did, other than from pure spite, since your stomach is churning too much to want to eat. Maybe that’ll change when the food shows up. If not, your co-workers are going to be in for quite a treat tomorrow. 

You return to your newfound favorite activity of ignoring Chrollo, busying yourself with anything that comes in sight. Watering your plants, putting mugs from the dishwasher away, menial stuff that keeps you busy. A new feat lies in your wake. Whoever designed this apartment didn’t do so with you in mind, your larger plates just barely out of reach. Not willing to concede to using a chair just yet, you keep up the gallant attempt, stretching as far as your body allows. Your fingertips graze just over the prized handle, only for you to fail again.

That’s when you feel an over looming presence behind you, a shadow encompassing your figure. Chrollo gets the plate you were reaching for with ease, his chest brushing over your back in the process. You feel your face flushing, your body going taut, standing still as a wooden plank. He sets it down beside you with a knowing smile. That bastard…! He’s doing this on purpose. Damn him. 

“It looked like you could use some help.” He tells you. It takes every ounce of your self restraint not to lunge at him, instead taking a deep breath and nodding your head. Why is he so intent on getting a reaction from you? It’s exasperating, serving no practical purpose other than his own amusement. Inundated with your thoughts, you don’t realize how sour a look you’re sporting. This is what he wants, you remind yourself. To get you riled up. You refuse to play into his hands, and manage to get a grip. 

Time passes by at a lethargic pace. After around forty minutes, your front door rings, and you pick up the order. Sitting at your counter, you help yourself to the meal, grateful that Chrollo has seen fit to leave you alone. There can never be anything good in this world, as he eventually joins you. You try not facing him as an act of defiance. The plan that seemed ingenious in theory has a rockier execution. Sitting in silence feels worse somehow, like a ticking time bomb. Shifting in your seat, you decide to strike up a half baked conversation.

“So, uh, about the whole being hunted down thing,” your voice wavers and you hate yourself for it, “Do you have an idea of when it’s going to be over? I’m starting to run out of excuses for why my friends can’t come over.” 

This is true. There have been no more lively gatherings at your apartment since Chrollo’s unwelcome appearance, and you’ve been pestered about it. In between the lines is the prospect of your friends finding this reclusive behavior suspicious. In your optimism, you hope he takes it as a hint to get out of here faster.

Chrollo takes on a pensive appearance, his chin resting on his hand. “I’d been meaning to talk to you about that, so I’m glad you brought it up.” 

How nice it is to be on the same page. This could be the light at the end of the tunnel, the last page in this awful chapter of your life. Ten days seems like a reasonable amount of time to lay low. Maybe he’s already packing his bags, planning to leave you far behind, so you can forget any of this ever happened. Maybe you’ll treat yourself to a vacation. From the gut wrenching anxiety Chrollo has inflicted on you, you feel deserving of one. 

“They’ve stopped searching for me a while ago.” 

Wait, what?

You look at him, silverware dropping from your lax hand. He’s never been into joking around. Does that mean he’s being serious with you? That all this time, you’ve been holding out for something that already happened? Fists balling by your side, you don’t bother hiding a sharp glare directed towards him. There’s no playfully wry response, no comeback, only disbelief and abhorrence. The bountiful meal in front of you is forgotten. 

There’s no point in asking, but you still do, voice low. “... How long?” 

“According to my sources, about a week.” comes Chrollo’s response, hammering the final nail in the coffin of your patience. His motivations have never been any less clear. You know you shouldn’t have taken the word of someone like him seriously -- you’re so painfully aware of this that it hurts -- but now leaves a final question. _Why?_ What does he get out of this? You feel sick to your stomach, knowing that it’s going to bad no matter what. Your breathing has picked up, eyes dilating and body threatening to crumble under the tension. Everything feels out of place. 

He responds as if he was reading your thoughts. “You’re an interesting person, [First]. You never cried, pleaded, or anything of the like. Instead you accepted the situation for what it was, all while staying true to your values. I find that admirable. I’d like to learn more from you.” 

“Stop talking to me like I’m a -- a fucking -- _science experiment_ , instead of a human being. How does any of that shit even matter?” You feel the blood draining from your face, every word coming out more forced than the last. Getting riled up here is the last thing you should be doing, but you can’t control yourself. All your negative emotions from your time with him are regurgitating into a final mess.

“I don’t know, truth be told.” Chrollo checks the watch on his wrist, and you gulp at the smile that forms on his lips. It feels like a sentencing, a foreboding omen. There’s bile rising in your throat, and you scramble away from your chair. You need to get out of here. You need to run, to scream for help, to alert your family, this is not going to end well, _what is he planning_ \-- 

There’s a hurried knock at your door.

“However, what I do know is that I have no intention of leaving this place without you by my side.” 


	6. Yandere Chrollo x Reader [Exodus]

Tonight commemorates an important milestone. 

You don’t know if you’d call this outing a “celebration”, the somberness of your mood presenting a stark contrast to the festive label. Reclaiming authority over _your_ own life shouldn’t have been a necessity in the first place. To take pleasure in having autonomy again feels surreal, invoking a bitterness within you that can never be sated. Nothing serves as a permanent solution in making you feel better. Distractions, all of them, fleeting as the wind that carries you from one city to the next. 

The glass in front of you is empty, your throat burning from finishing it off. It’s late -- around midnight, last time you checked -- you should be heading out by now. Staying in one location longer than necessary is unwise. This prepaid card should have just enough to cover your tab for the night, if you’ve been keeping track properly. The man who’s been chatting you up for the past thirty minutes pauses when he sees you reaching for your wallet. 

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” he chuckles, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. “My treat?” 

It’s a welcome enough invitation. “Ah... if it’s not too much a bother.” 

He shakes his head, and waves the bartender over. “It’s the least I could do. You make for a good conversation partner.” 

_Good conversation partner,_ you think, repeating his words in your mind. _Well, it beats some lecherous guy trying to feel me up. I’ll take it._

“Though, I’ve got to say, are you feeling alright? You look like you’ve been spaced out for a bit. Did you drink too much?” He asks with a frown. It’s true that your head feels hazy, but it’s not debilitating. 

“I’ll be fine,” you respond, stretching your sore muscles. “Thank you for caring.” 

As more people from nearby clubs pour in for a drink, the bar feels more claustrophobic. Various people walk by you at every moment. You and your friendly companion have to move out of the way to make room for the influx of people, even though you’re sitting on barstools. _Can’t people bother giving a bit more space? Geez..._

“Alright, just making sure,” he’s been feeling around his pocket for a few seconds now, eyebrows furrowing. “Huh, that’s strange, I could’ve sworn I left my wallet right here...” 

You look at the pocket he’s referring to, recalling how he put his wallet in there after ordering drinks for himself earlier. Before you get the opportunity to offer to help him search, there’s an additional voice behind you. One that instantly submerges your body into a state of unrivaled panic.

“I’ll pay for them.” 

There’s a hand placed on your shoulder. For such a light touch, it carries a heavy weight, your body all but crumbling underneath of it. Your breath catches in the back of your tightening throat. _This... this can’t be happening. It’s been_ months _. How is this possible, I took every precaution--_

“Isn’t that right, [First]?” Chrollo comes into your view, a content smile on his face. The same smile that tells you he _knows_ he’s won. The same smile that seals your fate, closing every door to the future you fought tooth and nail to open up. You don’t trust your voice, not in this petrified state, opting to nod your head once. Wrapping up some unsuspecting stranger in this is the last thing you want to do. Especially as courteous as this person has been to you. 

“Ah, thanks man, I must’ve dropped it somewhere,” he lets out an awkward laugh. From how Chrollo is referring to you with familiarity, he assume he’s your boyfriend. “I’ll head out for now then. It was nice meeting you.” 

“Y-yeah. Nice meeting you too.” You swallow bile that rises in your throat, every muscle in your body going taut. Chrollo takes the seat the stranger had once occupied and eyes you with acute interest. He’s wearing far more casual clothes than usual, bandages covering the peculiar mark on his head. Neither of you make a move. Had it been _anyone_ else, _any_ other person threatening you without so much as uttering a word, you’d be making a scene. 

It isn’t anyone else. You know Chrollo, you know the lengths he’d go to. One wrong move and everyone in here would be reduced to nothing less than a bloodstain on the floor. Playing your cards right is the only option, stalling until a better solution comes into your paralyzed mind. His dark grey eyes are unreadable, piercing straight through you, bringing a sense of dread like no other.

Your hands tighten on your lap, fingernails digging into the skin of your thighs. “How... how long...?” 

Chrollo raises an eyebrow at your quivering voice. “How long what? How long ago I knew the body wasn’t yours, that you’ve been using various forms of false identification, or since I entered this bar?” 

He returns your poorly executed question with a barrage of his own, delivered in an even timbre. Chrollo takes a sip from his own glass at your silence. What is there to say? What is there to _do_? You’ve been caught, trapped in the spider’s web, any forms of struggle fastening you further into his clutches. Squirming underneath his unrelenting stare feels even worse, but you can’t will yourself to remain calm. You know this is what he wants. To make you feel powerless, taking some form of twisted pleasure in your misery. There’d be a tiniest touch of satisfaction in denying him that, yet you can’t even manage that much. 

“I wanted to observe what you’d do, what lengths you’d go to,” Chrollo explains as he taps the rim of his glass, “Now that you’ve had your fun, I believe it’s time to come home.” 

_Fun...?_ Is that what he’d call it? Having to look over your shoulder whenever you went out for basic supplies, the insomnia that haunted you as you feared you might wake to the sight of him watching over you, cutting off contact with everyone you cared for as you feared the repercussions if he found out? There was no _fun_ in the last few miserable months of your life, only anxiety and lament. It took _everything_ you had to escape from Chrollo once. Seeing the light of that victory extinguished is agonizing. 

Chrollo places a smothering hand atop your shaking one. “Though, I do have to admit that I’m quite... _disappointed_ , with you. There’ll be time to discuss that elsewhere.” 

“What makes you think I’ll come with you?” you snap before you can stop yourself, pulling your hand to your chest in disgust. Chrollo doesn’t bother moving his hand. You both know your lack of power in this situation, how every act like that is nothing but an attempt to make you appear stronger than you are. Never before has his surname felt more fitting than now. 

“The same reason why you haven’t tried doing anything since I showed up,” Chrollo closes his eyes, reflecting. His voice drops to a sinister whisper. “You know what’d happen if you did.” 

There are no hidden strategies up your sleeve. No escape route, counter argument, or clever tricks. Your eyes dart around. There are people from every walk of life gathered here, known the wiser to the threat that looms over like a shadow in the night. College students, long time friends reconnecting, workers relaxing after a long week at the job. To Chrollo, they aren’t meaningful people with lives and ambitions, they’re puppets. His Nen is capable of horrors that you _wish_ you could unsee. 

“In that case... what do I do?” Your body is heavy with the burden of defeat. Shoulders slumping, eyelids drooping, and eyes threatening to overflow with tears. 

Chrollo places some bills onto the countertop, money no doubt gained through the pain of others. “I’m glad you asked. There’s a car outside waiting for us.” 

_Of course_. This wasn’t a chance encounter, or fate spitting at you in disgust. It was meticulously planned and executed by a man who specializes in the art of thievery. You’d expect no less. Sighing, you reach for Chrollo’s drink, that he had sit down in favor of inspecting you. He watches wordlessly as you take it for yourself, chugging the remnants in its entirety. The flush on your face worsens at your actions, but you can’t bother yourself to care. 

It’s only when you place it down with a _clink_ that he comments. “I leave you to your own devices for this short a time and you end up like this? Surely, being with me was better than jumping motel to motel for months on end. You’ve proven you’re incapable of taking care of yourself without my intervention.” 

“It’s _because_ of you that I’m like this,” you wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand, venom dripping from your every word. “Don’t get the wrong idea.” 

Chrollo simply smiles, standing and motioning for you to join him by his side. For something that’s posed as a choice, it’s lacking the options to truly be one, a single path set ahead of you. Chrollo helps you to your feet, your legs too unstable to function properly. In the moment, you can’t settle on how you feel. Angry with yourself? The rest of the world for not being able to see what’s happening? Exhausted from months of being on the run? You don’t know. You don’t know anything anymore for certain, the room around you steadily becoming a blur. All you know is that it’s all _his_ fault. 

“Whatever helps you feel better about yourself, [First].” 


	7. Yandere Chrollo x Reader [Pandora's Box]

A simple plan is the best kind to have. 

The less variables at play, the higher your rates of success are. You’ve anticipated some margin of error, a safety net of sorts, to be used if necessary. Everything within your realm of influence has been taken into account. Your friend in a car meeting you at a dead spot, a train ticket purchased with a prepaid visa card on a VPN, and a few precious pieces of jewelry to be pawned off at a later time. Scraping these assets together is a commendable feat, having to skulk around to make it this far.

_Nothing feels out of the ordinary,_ you think. Your preparations are almost complete. All that’s left is to wait to ensure the beast in hiding cannot come for you.

Prayer doesn’t traditionally feel worth the effort -- any god that’d allow you to be subjugated to a hell such as this is no god worth pleading to -- but tonight is different. Tonight you pray to any deity that may spare you some pity, that this plan may succeed without a hitch. The time signals the beginning of the next phase, the most vital aspect. 

Tonight’s soup had an additional ingredient, a generous helping of sleep inducing pills. To avoid suspicion, you partook in the meal as usual, hoping to cancel out the effects later by ingesting a gratuitous amount of energy drinks. It served the original purpose of fending off fatigue, but not without presenting a unique set of problems of its own. The caffeine has served to heighten your anxiety, upping what was already a nerve-wracking experience to a new level. 

Your guts feeling like they’re rearranging themselves, your body not capable of forgoing fidgeting a single moment. No longer can you tell if it’s nausea, stomach pain, or hyperventilation. Maybe it’s everything at once. All you know is that you’ve never had your body working against you more than now. Every nerve is frayed, your senses on high alert to any shadow or noise.

Deep breaths no longer bring you reprieve. Each raggedy breath you manage to squeeze out is an accomplishment, overshadowed by the fear that _he_ might hear you. How irrational a thought, that Chrollo would be capable of picking up on the differences in your breathing from afar. It doesn’t matter how illogical the worry may be. With Chrollo, you’ve learned that nothing is impossible. To expect the unexpected has been the mantra of your mind these past few months. 

_Just a bit longer... I need to know he’s asleep for sure. Or else it’s over._

Your foot taps against the ground in a frantic rhythm, ears ringing like funeral tolls. The last time you dared peak into your shared room with Chrollo, he was _supposedly_ fast asleep, out like a light. What should’ve been a cause for victory brought nothing but a fresh wave of dread. A guessing game ensues. Trying to decipher his body language from earlier for hints only serves to make you feel worse. You’ve been _so_ cautious, walking on sheets of thin ice at every move. Chrollo hadn’t acted out of the ordinary to your knowledge. Not that he has a way of acting ‘ordinary’ anyways, your limited understanding of his person having to suffice. 

Should everything be going according to your design, your friend will be in position to pick you up. There’s no more stalling, the point of return ahead of you.

_It’s time._

You do a final check over your mental checklist. Your backpack is stocked with the necessities: toiletries, a few changes of clothes, a filtered hydro flask, non perishable foods and your train ticket. To any onlooker it might look like you’re going hiking. Sporting worn sneakers, loose-fitting clothes, and having your hair pulled away from your face. _This is really it_. The culmination of sneaking around behind Chrollo’s back for months, unfolding before your very eyes. Everything is falling into place as it’s meant to.

You walk to the door. 

Each step you take is quiet as can be. Every shuffle of clothes, or the slightest of creaks from the floorboards, causes you to wince and pause. This penthouse has served as your personal circle of hell for months on end, the walls absorbing your cries and screams. You despise this place with every fiber of your being. The antique décor, the ancient texts that lay strewn about, the scent of sandalwood that you find nauseating. 

Ghosts of the past return to haunt you as you walk through different areas. Swirling around your head, they threaten to consume you, chipping away at your resolve. His hypnotic voice resonates in your mind like whispers of the serpent in the garden, tempting you. Weighing you down. Not even your own mind is a safe haven from his speech that disguises itself as flowery, when the reality is far more sinister. Chrollo’s words are constricting vines, lined with thorns, embedding themselves deeper into your flesh the harder you try to pry them out. 

_“Don’t you remember how difficult your life was before me?”_

Another step.

_“All those people who left you, who took advantage of you?”_

Your hands shake around your small, homemade EMP. It’s made from spare parts you managed to find around the penthouse, clumsily assembled through trial and error. The pulse it emits is next to nothing. Copper coils threaten to fall loose at any second when you raise it to the security system by the door. Holding your breath, you press down on the trigger. The device lets out rapid clicking sounds, the security monitor flickering before going blank. 

_“I know you’ll come around.”_

Finally, come the excessive locks on the door. The compressed air you said you needed for cleaning is next up. The can is cool against your trembling fingers, white specs decorating the locks as you spray them over. With some persistence, they come undone, one after the other. Unshackling you from the depths. You open the door that’s mocked you relentlessly for months, withholding your prized freedom. 

_“But even in the event that you don’t...”_

The surrounding world is a blur of colors. Your eyes don’t focus on any object for too long, scanning your surroundings for potential threats. It feels as if your stomach is in your throat when the elevator starts its descent. He had you up on the fiftieth floor? 

You fixate on the screen, numbers not flashing by fast enough for your liking.

40\. 

20.

5\. 

1.

_“Well. There are always ways of overcoming_ **_inconveniences_ ** _such as that.”_

It’s an extravagant lobby. Far more luxurious than you could ever have hoped to afford, this building being one of the most exclusive in Yorknew. The person at the front desk calls out and you ignore it. You must look mighty suspicious, not that you care. The priority now is _escape_. Running out the revolving door, crisp autumn air greets you. You’ve never felt more grateful for the bustling streets of the city. Even at night the city remains awake, making it easier to blend in. No one out here spares you a second glance as you weave in and out of fast paced crowds. 

_23rd street._ That’s where you’ll meet up with your friend, who will then transport you to the subway. Glancing up at the signposts, you realize you’ll be in for some walking. There’s no letting your guard down. Constantly looking over your shoulder, all you see are the faces of strangers. You’ve never felt so grateful to be a part of a crowd. 

Finally, after walking for what feels like an eternity, you spot your beacon of hope. A clothing store’s bright neon sign, which your friend sits parked in front of. Since these stores are closed this time of day, the crowd that once surrounded you have thinned out, yet you try not to fixate on the lack of cover. Jay walking across the street doesn’t prove to be an issue. The pollution from the city hides the stars behind a layer of smog, streetlamps your lone source of light.

Heart hammering in your chest, you tap on the window of her car with urgency. “Amelia, it’s me. [First].” 

You hear the doors unlock. 

Taking it as a sign she heard you, you waste no time swinging into the passenger seat of the car. Amelia immediately turns the keys, car humming to life. Your chest heaves with exhaustion from the draining events. _This is it._ The second to last step before you reclaim your freedom. It’s almost like a dream, the light at the end of a long tunnel. Amelia’s appearance is just as you recalled it. Hazel eyes, tan skin, long black hair, and an average build. Your heart leaps at the sight of her.

“I’ve been so worried about you,” your friend confesses in a hushed whisper. “[First], what... what happened? You completely fell off the face of the Earth for _months_. Then you contact me out of nowhere? What’s going on?” 

It isn’t easy meeting her eyes, so you don’t. “I... I don’t know if it’s safe to talk about it. The less you know, the better.”

She takes a moment to assess you before sighing. “Alright, I can tell this is serious. Just... I’m glad you’re alright.” 

Amelia begins driving without another word. Silence hangs in the air, offering a time to reflect. Your plan, Chrollo, what you’ll do next... it whirls around your head like a vortex. A gut feeling refuses to leave you alone whenever you picture his face. A dreadful thought that this entire escapade was too _easy_. Is it just your paranoia? It could very well be. Hugging your backpack closer to you for comfort, you’re startled by Amelia suddenly speaking up.

“The subway station, huh,” she reminiscences aloud, eyes flickering from the road to you. “So you’re leaving Yorknew?” 

There’s no way to continue dodging her questions. “... Yeah, I am.” 

“Where are you going?” 

It’s natural she’d have lots of questions. Had the situation been reversed, you’d have plenty of your own. For her wellbeing you don’t want to indulge more than necessary. Lying to someone who is helping you lives a sour taste in your mouth. _It’s for her sake,_ you remind yourself. Having to involve Amelia in this at all was the last thing you wanted to do. 

“I’m going to Zaban City. I have some extended family there.” 

Amelia hums in confirmation to your story. “Your cousin, right?” 

“Right.” 

She stops pressing that particular subject, likely sensing your apprehension. You take advantage of the peaceful atmosphere and close your eyes. The sleeping pills from earlier are starting to grow more prominent. Losing consciousness is the last thing you need right now, but indulging in some much needed rest sounds too inviting. 

“There was something else I was wondering about.” Amelia starts, earning your attention. Looks like sleep will have to wait for later. You yawn, stretching your weary limbs, and wait for her to continue. She smiles, dark eyelashes fluttering shut in deep thought.

“Oh, sweet [First],” she whispers your name in the gentlest of tones, and looks over at you. “Why are you so _selfish_?” 

You blink, the words not settling in immediately. “What...?” 

She continues without missing a beat. “You used to be so envious of me. Always pretending to play nice, because you were too passive to say how you really felt. How you hated me.” 

“Amelia? What are you talking about? I... I never _hated_ you, what--” 

“Even now you can’t bring yourself to admit the truth,” she sighs. “Not that I’m surprised. You’ve always cared way too much about what people think. Why would now be any different?” 

Her unexpected attack on your character has you shifting in your seat. Every word that leaves her lips is in her voice, yet feels so different than her normal character. Did something happen in the time Chrollo took you away? Anxiety rears its ugly head at the line of questioning. You take a sudden interest in your fingers, playing with them on your lap. 

“I don’t understand where any of this is coming from.” You admit, eyebrows furrowing together. The shift in atmosphere is tangible. What was once a warm reunion under stressful times has corrupted into a frosty confrontation. These insecurities of hers that laid dormant in your heart... why is she bringing this up _now_? In your most vulnerable hour? Nothing is making sense. These ugly feelings of yours were only ever confided in one person. 

“You knew it’d be a danger to my life to contact me. You knew that, and still you did it all the same. I wonder _why_ that is. Could it be... that you wouldn’t care if I died? If I was tortured for aiding your escape?” 

Your heart drops. This knowledge... how can she know any of this? Amelia used the word _escape_ , clear as day. Is that a coincidence? You look over at the car door, seeing it’s locked. _Something’s not right here,_ you deduce. _I don’t know what it is exactly, but something is very wrong...!_

She continues on. “I really do want to know what your justification for this is. Out of everyone you could’ve picked for help, you specifically chose me, knowing the danger it’d bring. Did you think I’d be spared in some sort of _miracle_?” 

The spare moonlight streaming in illuminates Amelia’s face, highlighting how pale her skin looks. Veins that would normally not have been so prominent have a blue tint, her lips a similar shade. Your eyes drop to the unnaturally large scarf that surrounds her neck. It’s not that cold out yet, why is she wearing something so cumbersome? Reaching out with unsteady hands, you pull the fabric back. Your gut feels like it’s been punched at the sight, eyes widening in horror. 

On the back of her neck is an antenna, with bat wings on the end. 

_Shit! Shit, shit, shit--_

In a frenzy, you stretch forward, searching for the button to unlock the car door. The second you find it, it’s pressed, and you unbuckle your seatbelt. You hear her speaking up again. Your heart feels like it’s about to burst from your chest as you jump out the car, grateful it isn’t going too fast. Skin meeting asphalt, you hiss at the pain, rolling onto your side. None of that matters now. How did he do it? He has to be nearby, maybe you can still make it to the station in time. Your head hurts from the impact, legs wobbling like jelly. 

It’s difficult to focus. You grit your teeth, utilizing the remnants of your strength to get to your knees. Why did the caffeine have to wear off so soon...? It was going _so well_. You finally had your chance, your time to take back your life. To go back to how things were. Struggling to get to your feet, you throw your backpack off, praying the lost weight will help you get up. 

“You never answered my questions,” calls a deeper voice. You gulp back acidic bile as a hand is extended in front of you. “I was hoping you would.” 

Your head hangs down. It’s over. For a transgression such as this, you imagine you’re in for quite the punishment. How funny a thing fate is. Similar to streams of rushing water, there are many twists and turns, leading you down paths you never wanted to go. Fingernails dig into the sensitive flesh of your palms, the pain anchoring your wandering mind to reality. All other parts of your body have lost feeling. Numbness is what you’ve come to know. 

The devil incarnate bends over, taking your tearstained face into his fingers, and lifting it to meet his eyes. An abyss of grey stares back at you, devoid of humanity. Taking pleasure in besting you _yet again_. Disappointment is mixed within an interest to see what you’ll do next. There’s no smile on his face as you’ve come to expect. You see an empty shell of a man glowering down at you, from a place just out of reach. 

“I can’t say I’m too pleased about this, [First]. We’ll need to have a _long_ discussion, don’t you think?” 


	8. Yandere Chrollo x Reader [Tunnel Vision]

_Sharp, pointed nails digging into your skin. The sickeningly sweet fragrance of bubblegum blended with metallic blood. Black dots obscuring your vision, the world growing further away with each miserable second. Through labored breathing, a tense dialogue is exchanged between both parties, the ringing from your ears making it impossible to know for sure what they’re saying. Falling in and out of consciousness, you pick up on a few phrases._

_“Just admit it, you’re no worse than I am. Look what you did to the poor girl. ♥”_

_“Maybe so, but that’s inconsequential. Your judgment means nothing.”_

_…_

_“Ah… what… a shame, that I didn’t… get to play with her as much as you did–”_

_“Hmm… to think your voice has never bothered me this much until now. This should silence you permanently.”_

“–So you shouldn’t move around much until it fully heals,” Machi instructs, her voice clear and direct. At your lack of immediate response, she frowns, snapping her fingers to pull you from your trance-like state. “Oi, [First]. Are you even listening?” 

You blink, her voice cutting through your clouded mind like a knife. “My bad, I wasn’t paying attention.” 

Machi sighs and places a hand on her hip. Sapphire eyes glance over your person, not even bothering to hide her intentions, stopping every time she reaches your healed wounds. Even though your inebriated state, you can tell she’s deep in thought. You doubt she’d tell you what’s on her mind if you asked. So you sit there in silence, politely waiting for her to repeat what you missed. 

“I could tell. Just take it easy, you’re going to need a few days of rest.” Machi walks to her bag, rustling through its contents. She picks up a bottle of pills and places it on your nightstand. The same medicine that she had given you before treatment, to dull the pain. You fight back the urge to smile at the small gesture. Had you been any other customer of Machi’s, she would’ve left by now without a word, indifferent to your condition. Despite your best efforts, she catches onto your softened expression and clicks her tongue.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she deadpans, shooting you a glare. You give an apologetic smile. “Take one a day until it’s gone.”

“Thank you, Machi. I appreciate it.” 

“As you should,” Machi throws her bag over her shoulder and goes to the door. Before she can turn the nob, she turns back at you. “I forgot to mention, but you have a visitor. The boss has been waiting here since he brought you in.” 

An unknown emotion stirs in the depths of your soul. Any playful retaliation you had for Machi’s previous comment dies on your tongue, your eyebrows furrowing. Why do you feel troubled by this revelation? You fight back the anxiety that bubbles up in your stomach. There’s no time to linger on this newfound unease, as Chrollo enters the room after exchanging pleasantries with Machi. Despite your efforts to suppress your discomfort, your body does as it pleases, heart palpitating and throat feeling tight.

He shuts the door behind him quietly and leans against the wall.

Chrollo Lucilfer. You consider your relationship to be a strictly professional one – maybe a touch of reverence on your behalf – never feeling as friendly with him as with the other members. He stands before you now in casual attire. Jet black hair frames his face, loose and fine, proudly showcasing the unusual tattoo on his forehead. It’s strange to see him without his trademark leather coat. Instead, he wears jeans and a navy blue undershirt. Immediately, you pick up on the bloodstains on his shirt, assuming he had shed his coat before coming in.

He smiles at your staring, not commenting as you glance away. “How are you feeling?” 

“The medicine hasn’t worn off, so not too bad,” you struggle to exhale, your breathing ragged. Why does it feel so warm in here all of a sudden? “Machi told me you, uh, carried me here. Thank you. I’m sorry about your shirt… I’ll buy you a replacement.” 

Chrollo puts a hand up to stop you. “There’s no need.” 

Being one on one with your mysterious boss is as awkward as you imagined it would be. You still don’t know why he’s here. In between jobs, Chrollo would disappear into thin air, untraceable until calling the Troupe back together. So him being the one to find you on the verge of death hasn’t made sense. Machi gave noncommittal answers whenever you brought this up or told you to ask him yourself. Which you intended to at the time, but now that you’re in his intimidating presence, the words die on your tongue before they can begin. 

He pushes himself off the wall and sits on the edge of your bed. The proximity feels strangely intimate, your face flushing at how familiar the act seems to him. Chrollo’s close enough now where you can pick up on his rich cologne. Dry wood with hints of leather. The scent increases your heart rate, anxiety at a new peak. You bite your lip and ball your hands into a fist to try and cope with the all-encompassing unease. To appear weak in front of him would be an insult to your tattered pride. 

“Machi informed me about your memory,” Chrollo leans forward as if to inspect you. Grey eyes bore deep into your soul, searching for something. “She said you thought it was July when you regained consciousness.” 

You swallow thickly at his questioning. _How humiliating is this?_ Whatever it was that had happened to injure you already felt degrading enough. your pride as a competent Nen user in shambles. The most plausible explanation is that Chrollo discovered you after you had lost a fight, but the remaining details are fuzzy at best. Theorizing is all you can do. The unexplained amnesia is frustrating, but it’s only a few months, so you figure it could’ve been worse. 

“That’s correct.”

Chrollo closes his eyes, as if in deep reflection. “So that’s how it is. I’m sorry to disturb you while you’re trying to recover, but can I ask a few questions?” 

“Ah, of course. I’m sorry if I’m forgetting something important…” 

This catches his attention, his posture tensing ever so slightly. You notice how his jaw tightens and assume your guess was correct. Your desire for answers on these missing four months strengthens and you feel hopeful that Chrollo holds some of the answers. It’s frustrating how both Machi and Chrollo seem to know more than you do but are refusing to give solid answers. Maybe they’re being considerate of your health? You’re not so fragile that you need to be coddled by your fellow Troupe members. 

Chrollo looks down at you through thick eyelashes. “Do you think that you are?” 

“I… I think so, yes.” 

He sits silently for a moment, running a hand through his hair and giving a bittersweet smile. “We’re in a relationship.” 

_Wait, what?_ This would explain why Chrollo was with you at a time when the Troupe wasn’t gathered and his casual demeanor. Your expression must not be as schooled as you intended, as he gives a humorless chuckle to your wide eyes and parted lips. You… were in a relationship with The Phantom Troupe’s boss? _Your_ boss? When did _that_ happen? _How_ did that happen? Did the others know? Ah, the teasing that would come with that. It’s not that you don’t find him attractive, your eyes work just fine, but the revelation still takes you back. Cheeks burning, you break eye contact and play with your hair. Feeling overwhelmingly self-conscious, you pull your blanket up further to cover your bare shoulders. 

“There’s no need to be so embarrassed, [First],” Chrollo chastises with a playful tilt of his head. “I’ve seen all of it many times before.” 

He’s not making this easier on you. You’re desperate to move on from the subject and decide to bring up another troublesome topic. Though you have an idea of what the answer will be, you’d still prefer that he’d confirm it for peace of mind. 

“I was wondering, boss–” you cut yourself off with an apologetic smile when he furrows his eyebrows, “–I mean, Chrollo, about my Hatsu. I can tell I don’t have it now. Are you ‘borrowing’ it?” 

There’s no other plausible explanation. In what other scenarios would you lose a fight that horrendously? You can’t picture anything else, your abilities have been enough to earn you Chrollo’s recognition and subsequent invitation to the Troupe years ago. It’s not uncommon that your boss will ask to borrow other Troupe member’s abilities. Sometime during the months that you’ve forgotten, this must’ve happened, or so you assume. 

Chrollo nods his head. “I am, yes. Why do you ask? Would you like it back?” 

“It does feel like a part of me is missing,” you admit sheepishly, scratching your cheek. “So, if it isn’t too much trouble…” 

“I had to delay the job I borrowed it for due to what happened to you. Is it alright if I hold onto it for just a bit longer?” He’s moving even closer to you now than before. The bed shifts underneath his weight, Chrollo delicately taking your face into his hands. Your mind has trouble scrounging together a comprehensible response. How can you focus when the pads of his thumbs rub soothing circles against your cheek, his deep eyes hypnotizing. You swallow thickly when his pointer finger drags slowly against your bottom lip. Chrollo told you’re together, you remind yourself, assuming he has just missed touching you. It’s impossible to not notice the hungry gleam in his eyes.

“Oh, well, in that case, it’s fine.” You only manage to relax when he pulls away from you, content with your response. This has been a draining series of events. Chrollo’s one-sided familiarity isn’t easy to keep up with, you still view him as your boss and he views you as a lover. Sensing your apprehension, he takes your hand in his and places it over your pounding heart. 

“Do you feel this?” He hums, to which you nod, speechless at the bold action. “Even if you don’t remember your love for me, your body hasn’t forgotten a thing from our time together.” 

Is that what this feeling is? Love? You want to trust him, to take his word for it, but something still doesn’t feel right. Chrollo’s presence has kept you on edge ever since he entered your room. Even now, your skin is covered in goosebumps, hair standing on the back of your neck. What else are you forgetting? This is the question that reverberates in your mind, threatening to consume you entirely. Softly, as not to offend him, you take his hand off you. Chrollo’s expression is unreadable as you do so.

“I’m sorry, Chrollo, I’m just not sure I’m ready for… _this_ yet.” You admit in truth, guilt washing over you at how his flirtatious demeanor changes to a calculating one. This is the version of Chrollo that you’re most familiar with. Your mysterious boss, who coldly issues orders and relishes in thrill of thievery, someone not as personal as he’s been acting like. Chrollo moves back and you’re grateful for the room to gather your bearings.

“Of course,” his aloof tone sends shivers down your spine, a distant gleam in his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have every intention of watching over you until you recover. It wouldn’t sit well with me otherwise.” 

Chrollo motions to your closet door, which is slightly ajar. Inside you recognize some of his clothes that are hanging next to yours. “And I _do_ live here, but I’ll sleep on the couch for tonight. How does that sound?” 

So the two of you were so close that you had invited him to move in? How fast was this relationship going, anyway? It doesn’t feel like you to get that intimate with someone else in such a short time. The way Chrollo phrased it makes it sound like you used to sleep in the same bed too, how embarrassing… God, his comments are going to be the end of you. You need time to think. To let all this information that’s been thrust onto you sink in. 

“If it’s not too much for an inconvenience. I feel awful… about forgetting as much as I have. Machi said she didn’t see any notable head injuries, so I can only assume it was a Nen ability.” 

“That could be it,” Chrollo responds more flippantly than you expected, standing from your bed. You thought he’d be eager to explore the avenues of returning your memory. Maybe it’s too painful to think about? “You haven’t eaten since this morning, so I’ll get us some dinner. Keep resting up.” 

“Thank you. I’m sorry for all this trouble.” 

Chrollo waves away your apology without concern. He does, however, acknowledge you before leaving your shared bedroom. There’s a smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You hope you’re imagining it. 

“By the way, [First]… I want you to know this. I’ll have you fall in love with me again. That’s a promise.” 

Then he’s gone without another word.


	9. Yandere Chrollo x Reader [Saturnine] NSFW

When gazing into the mirror, it should be easy to recognize the reflection staring back as your own. It’s the sight you’ve seen your entire life. Maybe the light in your eyes is less noticeable and your smiles no longer appear genuine, but in the end, it still physically bears your image.

You shiver at the chilly air kissing your bare skin, goosebumps erupting at the lack of clothing. Thin fabric clings tightly around your body, sheer and intricate in its lace design, yet astonishingly soft to the touch. It accentuates the swell of your chest, the black as midnight fabric stopping just shy above your midriff. A matching thong connects to sheer thigh highs through a garter belt to complete the set. Never in your life can you recall wearing such a lascivious outfit. Nor did you think you’d ever wear one for _him_.

Covering your exposed cleavage with your arms, you lower your head, fingernails pressing so harshly against your skin that it hurts. The pain serves to ground you in reality, proof that this is happening and not a dream.

“Did I… do this right?” You murmur, not used to how Chrollo is wordlessly assessing your trembling figure. Normally the air is full of conversation, equal parts rigid and provocative, a verbal game you’ve been forced to navigate. You still prefer the mind games over this maddening silence. You’re convinced he can hear the way your heart pounds viciously as if it was attempting to free itself from your body altogether, the current stress it’s under too much to withstand.

Chrollo moves a step closer and you take a deep, shaky breath. Grey eyes rake over your body, like a predator monitoring its prey, inspecting every inch of you. He spreads his fingers against your stomach, coarse fingers gliding over your skin, gradually moving upwards.

“Mm. You did perfectly.” His voice is rich and husky against your ear, spoken lowly so that only you may hear it. When his fingers reach their intended target, he cups your chest and lays his head on your shoulder. You watch his actions in the reflection of the mirror, glossy lips parting but no words managing to form on your tongue. Emotions swirl within you like an unrelenting vortex. Repulsion. Frustration. _Shame_. That it came to this, lowering yourself to a level you never wanted to be reduced to.

While you ruminate in your misery, Chrollo presses featherlight kisses from the crook of your neck to your jaw. His lips are soft and well taken care of, curling into a smile at how your pulse quickens. There are numerous mysterious surrounding Chrollo, but you do not doubt that he’s enjoying himself now. Your attention is brought back to his hands on your chest and how he kneads them. A blush ignites when you feel something hard press brush your ass, already guessing what it is.

“S-so you’re going to,” you struggle to get out, releasing a gasp when he suddenly pinches your nipple, “Keep… keep your promise, right?”

The clarification is for your peace of mind. An internal justification is necessary to continue with this illicit act, doubts plaguing your mind. You feel his chest rumble against your back, a deep chuckle leaving him. Regret comes swiftly, knowing that anytime you speak to Chrollo his responses sting deep, piercing your skin and festering.

One of his hands comes to your jaw, tilting your head back to look at him. The proximity has your eyes wide as a doe, his warm breath fanning against your face, dark tresses of hair tickling your face. His grip is tight but not painful. A not so subtle reminder of the Phantom Troupe leader’s innate strength, that goes beyond any measurement your mind could conjure up. Your squeeze your eyes shut when he leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the edge of your lips.

“What if I don’t?” Chrollo’s question has you frowning, eyelids fluttering open so you can shoot him a glare. He stares back unfazed, amusement visible from his closed mouth smile and relaxed posture, clearly not feeling intimidated by your little show. You decide to give it some thought, knowing he’ll scrutinize your response if not chosen carefully. Though, it’s admittedly _difficult_ to concentrate when your face is burning up and his hand is still groping your chest.

Swallowing thickly, you arrive at a half-decent comeback. “I’ll… I’ll hate you.”

It sounded _far_ better in your head.

Chrollo raises an eyebrow at your rebuttal but decides to entertain it. “Don’t you already?”

“I’ll hate you even more,” comes your reply, stumbling out before you could think it over. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, he doesn’t take visible offense. Instead, the bastard laughs again. Affectionately, Chrollo brushes his knuckles over your cheek, mirth dancing in his eyes.

“Even more, huh,” he hums, your nonsensical ramblings sounding worse when repeated back. “If that’s the threat I’m contending with, then I’ll be sure to stick to my word.”

You’re not exactly reassured by this, but decide to leave it for now. Suddenly, Chrollo steps back, freeing you from his grip. Before you can ask about what he’s doing, his hands start loosening his belt. Ah. So the time for negotiating is over. His dress pants fall, revealing a prominent bulge pushing against his briefs.

“Now get on your knees for me.”

It wasn’t a request. You do as he says, hyper-aware of how he’s staring at you, the tile from your shared master bedroom cold against your shins. To save what little modesty you have remaining, you readjust your bra so your chest no longer threatens to spill out. Heartbeat picking up in pace, you lift a shaky hand, palming his crotch through the fabric. 

The muscles in his thighs tighten, yet every other aspect of him remains thoroughly composed. Playing with the waistband, you slowly pull it down, revealing Chrollo’s half-hard member. It’s long, around six inches when erect, with a prominent vein that you’ve learned is rather sensitive. Precum is already leaking from the head, a sight that worsens the blush on your face.

Chrollo runs his hands through your hair, a quiet sigh leaving his lips. You pick up on the unspoken encouragement to not keep him waiting. Readjusting yourself into a more comfortable position, you take his dick fully into your hands, giving it a tentative stroke to test the waters. No verbal response. He’s excellent at maintaining his composure, creepy as it may be. Pumping his cock from the base, you bow your head down, eyelids fluttering shut as you kiss and lick the tip. That earns you a sharp inhale and a tightened grip but nothing else. Wetting your lips with your tongue, you continue licking the tip while jerking him off, noting that his cum has a slight salty taste to it.

Now that your confidence has somewhat been built up, you part your lips to take more of him in, getting adjusted to his size. Chrollo lets out a shaky exhale, fingers curling deeper into your hair. It’s difficult to get into a solid rhythm as your anxiety is unrelenting. Being so vulnerable in front of a person whose hands, which are now intertwined with your hair, have slaughtered countless people. 

He could do the same to you at any time, you think, despite his insistence for not wanting to. Hollowing out your cheeks, you manage to take more of him in, stopping just shy as not to activate your gag reflex. It makes your stomach churn when he lovingly strokes your cheek, looking down at you with eyes glazed over with crazed lust. Of course, he wouldn’t make this easy on you and act different — he continues with the delusion that this is love.

“Eager, now are we?” Chrollo laughs breathlessly. You decide to ignore the comment, too focused on having him finish so you can move on with your night. The low groans and whispers of your name are starting to affect you, a factor that only adds to your shame.. Pangs of heat are building up in between your legs, which you subconsciously rub together in a feeble attempt to relieve yourself. Chrollo quietly groans, content at the sight, dick twitching in your mouth. You wish he hadn’t noticed just how turned on you’re growing — not that you’re surprised with how unfairly observant he is — fully prepared for more scathing comments.

“I’m glad you stopped being so stubborn,” he pushes himself deeper into your mouth, gripping your head tightly enough not to let you move away, “So I can finally have my way with you.”

You wince at how he forces his dick down your throat, tears stinging the corners of your eyes and lungs screaming for air. Chrollo drinks in the sight, shuddering, bucking his hips, and pulling your face as tight against him as he can. You figure his release is getting closer from how erratic his movements are growing. At least it’ll be over soon. This line of thought is interrupted as he pulls away, saliva and cum connecting your mouth to his dick in a thin line, which has you frowning. Relishing the opportunity to regain yourself, your lungs greedily gulp in air, and you cough from his previous actions.

Chrollo extends a hand out to you which you hesitantly accept. The more human side is starting to show, his skin sheening with sweat, bare chest heaving for air much like yours, and black tresses sticking to the sides of his face. Your lips part, intending to ask why he stopped. He places both his just hands below your ass, hoisting you up as if you weighed nothing. Yelping, you struggle and cling to him as not to fall, eyes wide with confusion.

“W-what— ”

“Wrap your legs around me,” he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead and you do as he says, scared that you’ll fall otherwise. “Mm. Good girl.”

Chrollo carries you over to the wall, your back pressing against the hard surface and feeling its coolness on your bare skin. After thinking about it for a moment, you understand what it is he intends to do next, tightening your grip around him. He positions the head of his cock against your opening, smiling at how wet you are. At least he’s too focused to comment on your current state. You look to the side, not wanting to see the pleased expression you know is on his face.

“I’ll take care of you after,” Chrollo promises, slowly pushing himself inside you. You take a deep breath, gripping his shoulders tightly, fingernails digging into his skin. At least he’s allowing you to adjust. You yelp when he grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging it so that you look him dead in the eye. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Hm?”

A half-choked out moan leaves your lips as he fills you, feeling his sizeable length stretching you out.

“Y-yes,” You pant, carnal desire outweighing any solid reasoning at the moment. Chrollo continues to pound relentlessly into your cunt, burying his face in your neck. He’s coming undone, fucking you with a strength that has you breathless. You catch occasional guttural groans of your name and don’t want to admit how nice it sounds.

“I always knew you’d come around.” 

The sound of skin on skin fills the room, mixed in with his grunts and your moans. Squeezing your ass, his thrusts grow erratic, before he finally stills. Chrollo releases deep inside you, pulling you down onto him, hot ropes of cum filling you and seeping out.

He grits his teeth, shuddering at his release. All is still for a moment aside from your heavy chests. Chrollo gathers himself before you do, slowly pulling himself out. You feel his cum as it drips out of you and bite your lip at the possible implications. Everything is so warm and your body feels terribly sore, having to clutch onto him for stability when he puts you back down. Chrollo doesn’t seem to mind this, laughing as he runs his hands through your mousled hair.

“How precious.”

You yelp when he picks you up, bridal style this time, your face pressing against his chest.

“It looks like you needed some help there, dear.” Chrollo hums, placing you down onto the bed with a gentleness you weren’t used to. There’s no way any normal human could be _this_ collected already. Taking deep breaths, you attempt to calm yourself, not wanting to be completely undone before him. Chrollo watches with intrigue while you do so, his eyes piercing through your trembling body. When you finally manage to get your breathing steady, he gently pushes your shoulders down and spreads your legs.

“Now, about that promise of mine,” he presses open-mouthed kisses from your ankle to your thighs, “I intend to keep it. We’ll keep going until you’re no longer able to stand.”


	10. Yandere Chrollo x Reader [Traipse]

“How much longer are you intending to trail me for?”

Chrollo’s tone isn’t exasperated as one would expect, but rather, genuinely inquisitive to the nature of this event. The Phantom Troupe has made innumerable enemies throughout the years. In fact, it’s far more suspicious when months pass by without an unsuccessful attempt on his life. Chrollo neither enjoys nor detests it. Assassination attempts to him are par for the course, nothing but a mild _inconvenience_ , like running into mild traffic on the way to work.

However, today’s a bit different. Whoever’s tailing him is on extra thin ice. After all, every second he wastes ridding himself of this nuisance could’ve been a second spent in better company.

Still nothing. Their presence remains untraceable, yet Chrollo knows they’re in the general vicinity of where he stands. He purposely walked to a more abandoned side of the city. The buildings around here have seen better days, now crumbling and having been picked through by local squatters. A perfect place to stage an ambush with all the vantage points and hiding spots. This was already quite the generous setup Chrollo was offering.

One second passes. Two seconds. Then—

_Something’s coming._

Chrollo leaps back, the spot he was occupying half a second before now covered in a dark green liquid. A hissing sound fills the air as the substance seeps into the ground. The surrounding grass and dirt melt into nothingness, a sizeable hole forming in its place, accompanied by a steady stream of smoke rising. Based on where the attack landed, Chrollo gazes up to where it must’ve originated and spots a silhouette through a cracked window before it disappears.

More attacks just like the first follow.

Now that they have unwittingly revealed their position by striking first, their new plan seems to be trying to land whatever hits are possible before Chrollo gets to their position. It’s not a particularly impressive ability by his standards. However, this method of tailing and fighting him shows a shred of competence. While Chrollo makes his way to the abandoned building the attacks are coming from, he wonders what practical uses this Hatsu could have should he choose to steal it. Dodging the fresh onslaught, he rounds a corner in the dilapidated building, casual thoughts momentarily coming to a halt at the sight.

Ah. This person…

“I had heard you managed to get away,” Chrollo summons Skill Hunter into his hand. “You must’ve used your Nen to corrode your restraints, correct?”

The man in front of him is particularly unsightly.

“Shut _up_.” He growls, taking a posture meant for offense. Chrollo’s far quicker, flipping his book to an ability he stole a few months back. An Emitter ability in which the user’s Nen could restrain the opponent should the attack successfully hit, albeit in a rather painful way. Each piece of aura is small, about an inch in length, but the ability allows for hundreds to be summoned when necessary.

The man is flung against a nearby crumbling wall by the sheer force of the attack. When he attempts to pry himself off, he finds himself unable to move, pinned like a butterfly’s wings to a table.

Chrollo stalks forward, book in hand, ensuring the ability doesn’t disappear. “I must confess, I was expecting something more from you. You did manage to slip under the radar for quite some time.”

“Where are they?” The man, Adar, as Chrollo _unfortunately_ recalls croaks. “Where are you keeping [First]?!”

Chrollo’s smile appears noticeably strained. “What would it matter if I told you? We both know you won’t be leaving this place.”

Adar doesn’t respond, instead focusing on summoning his aura to melt Chrollo’s ability away. It’s a futile endeavor, his Nen not working as it did on the restraints made of real iron, Adar’s frustration only rivaled by the agony his pierced body is experiencing. Chrollo had intentionally made sure to miss any vitals in order to draw this experience out as long as he so desired. Both of Adar’s hands and feet are punctured to the wall, permanently trapping him in place, despite his frantic struggling.

“I promised… I promised I’d save them from you,” he speaks in a hushed tone, heart wrenching pain welling up and bursting out from his chest.

“Hm.” Chrollo doesn’t humor him with more than a disinterested hum, stopping just a few paces in front of the suffering man. _Adar Hanover_. Chrollo closely studies his face, hand in his chin, taking a moment just to understand what exactly you had seen in this pathetic bag of flesh. It had truly baffled him ever since he laid eyes on you over a year ago. That you had rejected his advances in favor of… _this_. Adar’s once clean-shaven face is now imprinted with stubble, his brunette hair long and unkempt from months on the run.

“To think, you had all that time to prepare a plan,” Chrollo nods his head to Adar’s restraints, blood flowing from the wounds. “Only for it to end like this.”

What to use, what to use… Indoor Fish wouldn’t work here due to the cracks in the wall. Perhaps an ability from a conman that’d have Adar burn alive until Chrollo closed Skill Hunter? Or perhaps, starting off by tearing out some teeth. Removing his eyes for having looked at you, flaying his fingertips for having touched you, castrating him for—

“I knew… I didn’t have much of a chance.” Adar’s voice interrupts Chrollo’s thoughts and gains his attention.

“Oh? Then why bother?” Chrollo couldn’t say he truly cared for Adar’s reasoning. It just feels rather pleasant to see the man struggling to force out each word. The fact Chrollo has to be here, taking care of this inconvenience instead of in your presence in the greatest transgression of all. He had been in such a good mood today too. A shame, truly.

“Because I finally decided what to say,” he responds, his chest heaving with every labored breath. “What it was… that would hurt a piece of shit like you the most.”

Chrollo smiles, the skin underneath his eyes tightening. “Let’s hear it then.”

“[First] and I have known each other our entire lives.”

Adar closes his eyes and reminisces on a better time. A time before Chrollo Lucilfer had come and wreaked havoc on everything he knew and loved. Adar remembers that cute way you’d dote over him when he told you of his plans to take the Hunter Exam, how you embraced him when he came back all wrapped up in gauze, scolding him for being careless. All those times where the two of you would sit, talking to one another into the early hours of the morning with plans for the future. The career you wanted. The career he wanted. How long you’d need to save up to move into a new apartment — you always stressed the fact the new place _needs_ to accept pets so you could get one — even picking up another job on the side to make that dream possible.

“Are you sure you’re not overdoing it?” Adar would ask you, only to receive a bright grin and adamant head shake in return.

“Of course not! I’m not stopping until we can get a dog. Ooh, or maybe a cat! Or a rabbit. Ah, I saw the cutest video of a rabbit the other day, come let me show you—!”

You always did have the most beautiful smile. How could he say no to that?

There was a time where Adar had spent months with a little box in his back pocket, so thrilled yet anxious to find the courage to ask you the question that had lingered in his heart since you were children playing in the park. Would you accept his eternal love and devotion? Adar had no shortage of either when it came to you. It’s why he trained extra hard to improve his Nen, so that when he finally could pass the Hunter Exam, the two of you would be set for life.

During that blissfully ignorant period, you had introduced Adar to a black-haired stranger, who always had bandages wrapped around his head.

“This is Chrollo,” you had introduced. “I lost my car keys but he was there to help me. Wasn’t that sweet of him?”

Interestingly enough, that was the day Adar’s engagement ring for you had mysteriously vanished into thin air. No matter where he looked, he couldn’t find it. What a _fool_ he had been for focusing on a stupid band of metal over your charismatic friend. For not thinking much of Chrollo’s subtly suspicious body language. Chrollo had only truly paid attention when you spoke, otherwise, he’d be exchanging thinly veiled insults with the other man in your life. It was even worse when you’d leave the room for whatever reason. The two men would stare at one another in tense silence, Adar none the wiser to what plans had been made for you.

Adar just wanted to make you happy by playing along. That’s all he ever wanted, truly.

He remembers it all.

“Think of this until the day you go to hell,” he licks his dry lips. “Know that someone as sweet as [First]... will never hold an ounce of love for you.”

Chrollo doesn’t give an immediate response or even a sign that he had heard Adar’s jab. The air is thick and smells of metallic blood, the only sound being Adar’s wheezing and pained groans. Bloodlust had crept out momentarily, only to be dismissed, Chrollo running a hand through his hair. A low blow for sure. Unfortunately, Adar is met with a different response than he anticipated. 

“I’m of the belief that [First] returns my affections,” Chrollo’s face softens when thinking about you. “They were stubborn at first, there’s no denying it. Yet now…”

Adar cries out when more Nen pierces through his skin, up and down his torso.

“They crave my touch.”

Adar’s legs are battered next, his limp body only being held up by the force of the Nen keeping him in place.

“It’s the more recent development that I’m most proud of,” Chrollo walks a step closer. “Now, they’ll even spread their legs for me and _beg_ for me to fuck them. Isn’t that just lovely?”

“You fucker…!” Adar struggles to lift his head, glaring at Chrollo with every ounce of hatred in his body. Why did this have to happen? Why did Chrollo have to ruin everything that he had worked his entire life to build? It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, it was far too cruel. Everything had been on the right path until Chrollo’s unceremonious arrival and subsequent derailing. This time of day, the two of you would’ve been bickering about what to have for dinner, Adar thinks. You’d ask for takeout while Adar would insist on preparing something with what was in the fridge.

Each wave of pain that rips through Adar makes him feel as if his body is on fire.

“Do you not believe me?” Chrollo asks, tilting his head, as if that was the problem Adar was having. 

Adar no longer has the strength in his body to muster up a response, coughing and gurgling up the blood that’s rapidly filling his lungs. His throat feels tight, so terribly tight, like he’s suffocating on nothing but his own saliva. He can no longer tell if it’s because he’s suspended in the air or if it’s from the lump in his throat. All he knows is that everything hurts. His heart, his mind, his soul. Everything. 

Chrollo’s eyes gleam in excitement as he continues his verbal assault.

“I could bring them here and have them demonstrate their adoration for me.”

“Stop…”

“I was relieved to hear I was their first time,” he laughs airily, without a care in the world. “Know that you’d be suffering more right now had that not been the case.” 

Adar’s screams out, his voice cracking and weak, throat raw from his desperate actions. 

“[First] really makes the most precious little noises for me. I’m grateful to know you’ll never get to experience such a pleasure.”

Finally, Chrollo reaches into his pocket. Adar’s vision is blurry, his ears ringing and mind in a distant haze. He knows that death would be a mercy for what’s in store for him. It’d be so much easier to just close his eyes and fade away into nothingness. Whatever awaits him in the afterlife won’t hold a candle to the horrors he’ll soon be facing.

It hurts to keep his eyes open, but he tries. Adar prays he can remain strong until the end.

For a moment, Adar hadn’t recognized what was sitting in Chrollo’s palm. When it clicks, sobs finally wrack through his body, the emotional turmoil too much to withstand any longer. Chrollo’s holding the box was meant to mend you and him together for eternity. The Phantom Troupe’s merciless leader flings it onto the ground as if it were nothing more than trash. In his eyes, it was. 

The last thing Adar remembers before he falls unconscious is whispering your name.

Chrollo dismisses his book, watching Adar’s body fall limp onto the ground with a loud crack. He’s still breathing, however, just as Chrollo intended. To die a death too fast would be a _disservice_. No, he’ll have Feitan handle the rest, suddenly losing interest in spending any more time with this man. He’s wasted enough time here as is. 

Now that that’s been taken care of, Chrollo sets back to what he was doing before, walking home to you. Adar will be left in nothing but a puddle of his bodily fluids until Feitan’s arrival, an end he finds most fitting.

When Chrollo leaves the bloodied room behind, the sole thought on his mind is what kind of engagement ring he should get you. 


	11. Yandere Feitan x Reader [Eye for an Eye]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, this chapter contains minor character torture and death.

“Do you remember the rules?” 

You thought that you had adequately prepared your mental state for this. Feitan was generous enough to give a full day’s preparation, something he made a point of saying you should feel grateful for, which you were inclined to agree with.

“I do, yes,” you hardly recognize your own voice through the persistent, high pitched ringing in your ears. You’ve yet to enter the hellish landscape that’s just before you, and debilitating anxiety has already begun to take over. Feitan’s menacing aura doesn’t help alleviate your dread; he’s made no attempt to suppress his sick excitement. It curls and wraps around him like shadowy tendrils. So tangible is the negative energy that radiates from him that even without your ability, you’re certain you could sense it from miles away. 

He doesn’t seem content with your answer. “Repeat them.” 

“I can only use enough aura to power my Hatsu. If I start using more than necessary, you will stop the session, and I will be punished accordingly.” You repeat back the words Feitan directed towards you yesterday in a trancelike state.

“So you _are_ capable of retaining basic information,” he hums and opens the door to the basement. “Most impressive.” 

The sarcasm isn’t enough to bother you. You’ve learned (though against your will), how to navigate the minefield that is a regular conversation with your captor. Anyone without knowledge of his inner workings would presume he is displeased, from how his body language betrays his real thoughts. His mouth is set in a straight line and eyes duller than a weathered coin. You can tell from the slight lilt at the end of his sentence that he isn’t upset, far from it, he’s _thrilled_. 

For some reason, that frightens you more. 

“Your legs aren’t broken, are they? Walk.” Feitan steps into the dimly lit basement, stopping just shy of the stairs to glower at you. You don’t bother responding, knowing it’d upset him the more this was delayed. It was no exaggeration to say you were entering into the underworld, but unlike the Greek fantasies you grew up with, this was no epic of overcoming odds and triumphing. There was no winning here, there was only survival. 

Your legs already feel shaky, that’s a bad sign. You can’t have your knees buckle this early in, it hasn’t even started yet. There’d be a world of pain in store should you keep him waiting. Something tells you that if you were to suffer a heart attack from the sheer stress you’re currently under, he’d drag your soul back to your body if not only to admonish you for daring to inconvenience him. The dark humor gives momentary relief that doesn’t last anywhere near long enough. 

It’s the smell that hits you first. 

Bile claws up your throat, an automatic reaction to the putrid stench, your hand rushing to cover your nose. It does little to offset the pungent odor. The primal part of your brain has long since gone into fight or flight mode, pumping enough adrenaline into you that you’re certain you’ll be able to sleep like the dead tonight once it wears off. That’s something to look forward to, you tell yourself, as you descend deeper into a waking nightmare. At least you’ll get a good night’s rest. Yes, give yourself something to work towards, a light at the end of the tunnel is most helpful. 

It’s a miracle you manage to get down without falling over and hurting yourself. Your breathing is erratic enough to almost be labeled hyperventilating, which is further exacerbated by the ungodly sight haunting your vision. From your bedroom upstairs, you _knew_ it would be bad, the soundproof concrete not enough to entrap this poor man’s screams of sheer terror. Feitan stops to appreciate his work while you gape in uncontrolled horror. 

_Look away, look away, look away, look away—_

“You could’ve been in that chair, you know,” Feitan picks up a bloody instrument that was sitting on a nearby table and inspects it. “Lucky you. Count your blessings.” 

How can a human being do this to another? The clinical term for a lack of empathy was something you’ve read before in passing, but it never hit you as hard until now. This was the stuff reserved for late-night binge-watching excursions, not _reality_ , not being just a few feet away from you. Feitan’s words echo in the chamber that is your broken mind, more threatening than he likely intended them to be. If he had wanted you dead, or worse, it would’ve happened by now. That’s what you’d cram into your brain on a better day and force yourself to believe. 

He says you should be grateful to him for letting you live, but could this be labeled as _living_? 

The man, who Feitan never bothered recounting the name of to you, is closer to death than he is life. His head hangs from weariness, too weak to lift it. You note the bloody rope that’s been used to secure his wrists and ankles to the wooden chair, tied so tightly that the slightest struggle would irritate the skin. It hits you then and there how intentional and methodical every detail is. From the way Feitan avoided vital organs by _just_ a hair, to how he knew which serious wounds to cauterize and which could fester without killing the target early. Everything was optimized to inflict the most suffering humanly possible. 

Maybe he had been justified in saying your treatment was a blessing in comparison to this. 

“Well?” Feitan’s impatient snapping rips you from your reverie, a callous reminder that you have work to do here. That’s right, this is for a reason, no matter how immoral it may be. You hate to admit it, but there’s only enough room in your heart to worry about yourself. Later that night, you’ll pray for forgiveness to any god that hasn’t turned away from you. 

“H-he needs to be conscious,” your teeth are chattering, whether from the poor insulation down here or the fear, you can’t be certain. “Otherwise, it won’t work.” 

Feitan clicks his tongue and walks over to a grimy sink. “Should’ve said that sooner.” 

He turns the faucet on, filling a nearby bucket up with icy cold water. You barely get the opportunity to comprehend what it is he’s hoping to do before he’s in action, dumping the arctic concoction over the slumbering man’s head. The stranger gasps to consciousness, shrieking, his body shivering and eyes bloodshot. 

Through his delirium, he catches you, likely sensing your lack of bloodlust. “P-please, help me, I need—” 

The man doesn’t get to finish his cry for assistance. Feitan is instantly by his side, dislodging a finger on his hand in a way that’ll for sure give you nightmares, accentuated by a sickening _crack_. You recognize the scowl etched on Feitan’s face immediately, it’s a sight that you wish you could gauge from your brain. That’s how he looked when you were spoken to or, _god forbid_ , touched by anyone other than him. For someone that treated you as little more than a nuisance, he sure hated it when anyone dared to do the same. 

Now that the man’s awake, you’re determined to get this over with. While he shrieks in newfound agony over his broken finger, you activate your Hatsu, mindful to not use more than necessary. Feitan’s warning is not one to be taken lightly. Your ability is immensely useful when it comes to dealing with other people, yes, but not when it comes to actual combat. That’s what landed you in this purgatory after all, your physical weakness couldn’t make up your mental strengths. 

_Curator of Oracles, (Reveal That Which Is Yet Unknown)._

Your eyes glow with a faint light, illuminating the otherwise dim room. It’s been so long since you’ve used your Hatsu. Feitan stressed that should you ever try it on him, you’d get to be a guinea pig for some new techniques he had thought up. Whether or not he would actually follow through on that threat didn’t matter to you. It was enough to strike the fear of god onto your soul, having heard the suffering that takes place down here enough nights to not trifle with him. 

Similar to the tip of a blade, your concentrated aura penetrates deep into the man’s mind, revealing and putting everything on full display for you. 

His name is Marshall Adams. He is thirty-two, once divorced, with his ex wife having sole custody of his two sons. He works part-time at a convenience store just down the road from where he grew up and lives with his sick mother. While browsing around the web one night, he happened upon an ad that promised a great reward for information on The Phantom Troupe. He wanted to turn his life around with the sum he would get with the money. He wanted to prove those who thought he’d turn out like his abusive father wrong, to provide for his dying mother, to reconnect with his sons who he loved more than life itself, to—

“Ngh,” you fall to your knees, the information influx fraying your nerves and setting your emotions on fire. Another shortfall from not being able to freely use your ability meant that when you did, it was more draining than it used to be. You were out of practice, thanks to Feitan, who is observing your every movement like a _hawk_. He’s making sure you’re behaving as you promised you would. 

You pant, your heart racing, and every inch of your body perspiring. You’ll need a long, hot shower after this. 

“How much does he know?” Feitan doesn’t allow you to regain yourself, impatiently expecting your report.

It hurts, _god,_ does it hurt. Why couldn’t this guy have been some disgusting criminal, like a human trafficker or some other scum you couldn’t empathize with? Maybe then, it would’ve been easier to sentence him to a fate of unimaginable suffering and terror, but that’s not who he is. You saw it all. His rare victories and many defeats, the love in his heart for his family, how this was meant to be the start of a new chapter in his life. His last phone call before he was captured was with a social worker, where he confidently said that he would soon have the financial backing to make a case for seeing his sons. 

“Are you certain about this, Mr. Adams?” She had asked. 

“I’ve never been more certain in my life,” he replied. “Just you wait. I’m gonna see my boys real soon.” 

Why did he have to get involved in all this? 

Why did you have to get involved?

_Why, why, why?_

Feitan crouches down by your side to inspect you, his hand on your shoulder as a silent warning. “I’ve waited long enough.” 

Marshall Adams struggles against his restraints again, none the wiser to what just happened to him, or what is about to happen. You swallow thickly. He had managed to hold out on telling Feitan what he knew, his resolve and pride are most commendable. Some selfish part of you condemns him for this. Had he just given up like all of Feitan’s other victims and spilled everything he knew, Feitan wouldn’t have been forced to ask for your assistance, and you wouldn’t be down here. You’d be in your room, wearing your fuzzy pajamas, snacking on some candies that Feitan had seen fit to reward you with for your recent good behavior.

You don’t think you’ll have an appetite for days after this. 

“He took and posted pictures of Uvogin online.” 

“Clear ones?” 

_Please, forgive me,_ you think, knowing you don’t deserve it. “Crystal.” 

Feitan mutters under his breath at this but finally relents. You wrap your shaky arms around your torso, silently mourning what would soon happen to this man, knowing full well it was unjust. He was smart to know telling Feitan this was a bad idea. Your ability single-handedly ruined Marshall’s perseverance and you couldn’t be more disappointed in yourself. It doesn’t help that Feitan’s mood is soured, now knowing his fellow Spider’s safety has been compromised. There will be hell to pay for this. 

Exercising surprising tenderness, Feitan helps you to your feet, not complaining when you lean against him for support as you expected him to. He carries you upstairs after assessing your weakened, trembling state. You hate yourself for letting him do this, for letting him touch you, for every injustice you’ve been subjected to against your will since meeting him. That’s what you tell yourself, all the while leaning into his touch for some sort of relief. 

He sets you down on a couch and pats your head. It was intended as a rare, affectionate gesture, but you view it as anything but. You find it to be degrading. Worse of all, he would’ve loved to know you saw it like that, so you’re extra careful to not give yourself away. The last thing you need to deal with is getting him off when you’re in deep mourning. 

“You’re so good for me,” Feitan praises in a raspy voice, and you almost wretch. “So submissive. My _obedient_ little [First].” 

“Expect a reward later. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

Numb to anything other than fear, you nod, not risking upsetting him when he’s so content with you right now. With that, he retracts his hand and walks back to the basement. You wish you didn’t notice the bloodlust oozing from his pores as soon as you were out of his sight, for it was a foreboding sign. 

You grab the closet pillow and cover your ears to the blood-curdling screams that come seconds later. 


End file.
